The Duel of Versailles
by fieldandfountain
Summary: An AU Versailles where electric guitar is everything! Count Toki Wartooth is a non-entity at Versailles until he wows with the power of his guitar. But when Monsieur Skwigelf, guitar master, arrives at court, Count Wartooth may lose everything. Inspired by the short portion of the Doomstar Requiem Duel where Skwisgaar and Toki battle dressed as courtiers. Skwisgaar/Toki.
1. Chapter 1

Count Wartooth had never felt quite at ease since he had arrived at Versailles. He had become the Norwegian ambassador after the death of his quiet and grim father. The entire court expected him to be much the same- unfriendly and brusque, and highly uncultivated.

He had lived a brutal childhood until the hands of his parents, and had never learned the courtly graces so essential to life in Versailles. The fashionable ladies and whispering gentleman were a source of fascination to him- his own holdings in Norway had been large but drafty wooden structures, and his clothing had always been simple. Simplicity was not the fashion, and he stood out in the worst way. And his French was abominable. As French was the world language of the time, he seemed uncouth and provincial, basically a curse worse than death.

Count Wartooth had only one advantage that he knew would bring him renown in the court, but he felt so awkward that he was ashamed even to mention it. At this point the electric guitar was at the height of fashion, and to master it was to capture the heart of Versailles. But Count Wartooth, or as he had always been called at home, Toki, was too shy to reveal his ability. He doubted his skills and didn't want to risk ridicule.

And then his luck shifted. His friendship with the lovely Marie Antoinette had come through their mutual love of animals- she had a menagerie of pets, including a team of small dogs that followed her everywhere. Toki was used to massive hunting dogs, but he took comfort in the lapdogs, petting them with childlike glee. The young queen had noticed his interest and smiled on him. She took him to her getaway, the Petit Trianon on the grounds of Versailles, where she lived in what she imagined was simplicity, but to Count Wartooth seemed the height of luxury.

"Those are my sheep," she prattled, pointing to a herd in the distance. They had been dyed pink, and Toki laughed in spite of himself.

"We have sheeps at home, but they ams…. different," he said shyly. Marie smiled indulgently at him. She didn't care much about life outside of her fairy tale world, but he had a charming way of expressing himself. He was like a child who was first learning to speak. And his face was certainly handsome, with his large, pale-blue eyes.

Even with all of her luxuries, Marie Antoinette's life often bored her. She longed for a project, and this odd foreigner with an innate charm seemed a perfect opportunity to practice her craft. It would surprise all of her friends to see the awkward country bumpkin transform into an ideal courtier.

She started with his speech, but he simply would not give way, and Marie, used to having her way, quickly grew bored. Versailles loved novelty, and if the courtiers would just listen to him, they would see the charm in his turns of phrase. If it had become fashionable to speak with a lisp, why not an extra s at the end of a word?

No, she would make him look good, and that would be enough. She consulted her dressmaker, Rose Bertin, and after ordering several new costumes for herself, she presented her protégé.

The impeccably dressed Madame Bertin peered up at Count Wartooth. If she felt amused, she hid it well with her pursed lips. But it was clear, with her measurements, and her suggestions, that he was shamefully dressed. She had him outfitted in a long embroidered coat and breeches, silk stockings and buckled shoes, erasing all Norwegian influence from his clothes and making him the perfect specimen of the French nobleman. Toki felt sad, because he loved his country, and enjoyed the small details that made him who he was. But it was worth it because he desperately longed to be accepted, and hoped to build up the courage to play his guitar.

Marie Antoinette lifted her hands to her cheeks with glee. "You look so handsome!" she said. Then she frowned and crossed her arms. "Only we must do something with that wig. Let us call Monsieur Autie!"

Toki sat with trepidation as Leonard Autie went over his hair. The hairdresser considered a wig, and then turned back, deciding to curl the hair and powder it instead. He applied powder to Toki's face as well, and light rouge on his cheeks and color to his lips. Toki blushed under the rouge. He didn't feel quite at ease, but Marie was clearly delighted, and he was happy to oblige his friend. He saw her face with its pretty features above him, and he felt a keen delight in her kindness.

"You dos so much for me, and I can't thanks you enough," he said gently, and she, with her natural affection, flung her arms over his neck.

"You are such a child," she said. "But you will be well-beloved here. We're not all schemers, I promise, dear Count. We also prize a good heart."

"When dressed in prettys clothes." He said, teasing her, but also with a touch of sadness.

She slumped down into her long couch, teasing a stray curl with her finger. Her ankle was showing, a highly inappropriate gesture. "I'm sorry, Count Wartooth, but we can't ignore our times."

"No, my queens," he said, smiling. "You ams being so kind to me. And I has something to shows you tonight."

She nodded, her eyebrow tilting. Life at Versailles was everything. What could he possibly show her that was new to her?

His apartment, previously decorated by his father, was in too shameful a state to possibly show her, so they met in a private chamber, a morning room which was certain to be empty. He had his guitar in its intricately embroidered case, and his manservant carried the amp behind him.

He waited for her and bowed deeply when she arrived. "Such pleasures to see you, your Highsnesses," he said, biting his lip. He couldn't believe he was showing his skill to Marie Antoinette, the most celebrated woman in the world. She sat down simply in a small chair, her round blue eyes lifted to him.

"Oh, I love a surprise, my dear count. Don't tease me- what is it you have to show me?"

He gulped, and her pink lips fell open slightly as he unzipped his guitar case. His servant attached the guitar to the amp.

"You can't be serious," she said, with a peal of laughter. So many courtiers had tried to serenade her, and so many had failed. She had such affection for the young man that she hated to see him embarrass himself. "Put that away," she said gently. "We'll forget this ever happened."

"No, I begs your pardons, my Queen," he said, bowing quickly. His heart began to race. What if he did fail? But he knew the power of his playing, and here was a chance to win her esteem and show his gratitude. He lifted the guitar, and hit the first string.

It turned into arpeggio after arpeggio, channeling Bach and Mozart, but also creating variations of his own, each more intricate and daring.

Marie Antoinette's expression turned from amusement to awe as she watched the incredible speed of his fingers. He stood upright, and gazing into an invisible distance, his hands moved with greater agility, and it felt as though a bolt of lightening had overtaken the room. He was in his chamber in the frozen north again, defying his cruel parents and their perpetual silence with the strength of his song. Versailles was such a different world, stiff and yet longing for genteel informality, and the power of his playing was a shock and yet a revelation.

He had noticed the crowds that had gathered at the door, lured by the music. Marie's pupils dilated, and she raised her small hand to her breast. He finished on a triumphant high note and let it reverberate through the room. Falling to his knees, he finished his song.

Marie Antoinette promptly fainted.

The courtiers gathered around, looking up at him in awe. They fanned their queen awake, and she blinked languidly.

"Oh Count Wartooth!" She cried. "You are a master in disguise."

He rose to his feet and bowed low, and the courtiers burst into applause.

From then on, the count's position at court was secure. He was a favorite of the Queen, and that was enough in itself, but he also was a certified master of the beloved instrument of the court, the electric guitar. He spent his days joyfully, in a playful tête-à-têtes with the Queen or her ladies in waiting. He was given the position of royal guitar instructor to the King, Louis XVI, which inadvertently made him one of the most powerful men in the kingdom. But mostly he enjoyed running through the halls with abandon, chased by the queen's dogs or the small children of the court. His eccentricities were forgiven, and many of the great courtiers had taken to adding an extra s or two to their words.

He was finally loved and admired, and he could not imagine being unhappy again.

That is, until the messenger came.

"To the Most Serene and Potent Prince and Lord, Louis XVI, King of France and Navarre," announced the small man, raising up his scroll before the court. "Monsieur Skwigelf, the esteemed master of electric guitar, will be passing through France en route to his home country of Sweden and requests the honor of an audience before you."

The entire court cheered. Few of them had seen Monsieur Skwigelf in person, but his renown had spread through the kingdom. He was said to play with lightening speed, and inspire awe in the most hard-hearted of listeners. It was rare that this bored group of courtiers had a treat to truly delight them, but all of them longed to hear the great Skwigelf. Besides his great talent, he was said to be endlessly charming and handsome. The ladies of the court increased the speed of their fans at the mention of his name.

"Oh Count Wartooth," whispered Marie Antoinette to her protégé, "This must be such a delight to you! A kindred spirit in our court!"

But it was no delight to Toki. He would have liked to hear Skwigelf- from a great, great distance. He had idolized the musician for years, but he feared that all his friends would lose interest in him once Skwigelf arrived, and he couldn't let that happen. In spite of his innate kindness, Count Wartooth had a strong urge to send his rival packing, whatever it took.


	2. Chapter 2

Count Wartooth had made several close friends in the past months, but none so close as Yolande, Duchess of Polignac. She was a small woman, with deep brown eyes and a tender expression. Her cloud of rich brown hair was lightly powdered, and she dressed with perfect neatness. She had been married at seventeen, but at a court as free as Versailles, there was nothing amiss in his friendship with her.

She was passionately devoted to the electric guitar, and Toki gave her as many pointers as he could. But she was also flighty and without much natural aptitude, so she usually sat outside, her parasol shading her face, while he played song after song for her.

He wanted desperately to tell her of his fear, his fear that the Swede would come and take his life from him. But it seemed so foolish: Count Wartooth was after all a nobleman, while Skwigelf was a mere musician.

They took a stroll in the gardens. Yolande's fingers were small and tapered and he was tempted to take them in his own. They found a grassy knoll hidden by long boughs and took part in a secret ritual, innocent but not entirely appropriate. Toki would lay his head in Yolande's lap and babble on. She would laugh at his strange turns of phrase and childlike thoughts and play with his hair. She would run her fingers delicately through his powdered hair, careful not to damage the curls.

"Oh, Yolande," he said. He had no evil intentions toward her. He believed in her innocence and simply enjoyed their hours together. In spite of all his new friends, he knew on some level they could easily lose their respect for him. He had seen it before- those who lost their fortunes were pitied, and though not cast off immediately, were ignored when it came to expensive pursuits like gambling or hunting that formed the heart of life at Versailles. They would be forced to retreat to their own estates, and be forgotten.

After a neglected childhood, and the humiliation of his first months at court, he ached for warmth and intimacy. Yolande, with her sweetness and simplicity, seemed capable of being a true friend to him. And now, as he gazed up at the sky, and felt her hands on his head, he felt a strong urge to confide in her.

"Ams you," he paused. "Ams you excited to see Skwigelf?"

"Yes," she answered. "Everyone is! Aren't you? Imagine, seeing such a great guitarist in person."

Toki pursed his lips together.

" Aren't you?" she asked, stoking his cheek.

"I suppose I ams," he said hesitantly. "But who ams he anway? Who ams his father? Why do we needs such lows people at our court?"

Yolande looked down in surprise. She had never heard Toki express such snobbery before; he was always the first to have a friendly word for the various valets and maids at Versailles.

"Well," she said carefully. "Talent is its own kind nobility, don't you think?"

Toki hopped out of her lap. "No! I don't thinks!" His face burnt red, heightening his rouge. "He ams a nobody and everyone act likes he ams some gods!"

Yolande wanted to laugh at the expression on his face, so like a petulant child. She didn't remind him that he too had been called a nobody, a provincial that couldn't speak properly. She divined the source of his rage, and thought it best to comfort him.

"Yes, he may be able to play guitar, but your skill, combined with your blood, is worth much more."

Toki nodded. He allowed himself to be placated by her words, though he knew in his gut it wasn't quite true. Monsieur Skwigelf was just a glorified craftsman- he, Toki, had a title, and no master of guitar could take it from him.

Yolande and Toki were walking quietly back from the gardens, arm in arm, when Marie Antoinette hurried towards them, her skirts trailing behind her. "Have you heard the news?" she cried, her voice trembling with excitement.

Yolande and Toki looked at one another. "What is it?" asked Yolande.

"Monsieur Skwigelf has been granted a title!"

Toki dropped Yolande's arm and his lips trembled.

"Friedrich Wilhelm has granted him the title of Baron in Prussia for his extraordinary performance there!"

"Can he do that?" asked Yolande, holding her hand to her mouth and gasping.

"He's the king!" Marie waved her hand. She had a belief in absolute monarchy. "He can do whatever he pleases!"

Yolande took Toki's arm again, and realized that it was trembling. "Are you alright, my friend?" she whispered.

"I. Ams. Fine." He said through gritted teeth.

"And that's not all!" Marie's face glowed.

"There's more?" asked Yolande, trying, for Toki's sake to hide the excitement in her voice and failing.

"In Poland he received the Order of the White Eagle, making him a knight."

"Impossible!" But Yolande was smiling. It made his visit that much more exciting.

"Of course, these are all new titles, and aren't worth a great deal." said Marie, in her excitement not noticing the beet red color of Toki's face. "They say he's a bastard, but with accounts of such elegance I can't hardly believe it."

Yolande tilted her head. "Love children are supposed to be beautiful."

"Nonsense!" said Marie. Her enemy Madame du Barry had been illegitimate, but she wasn't _that_ pretty, in spite of what they said. Pure blood would shine through. "But imagine, a baron and a knight, and so handsome and talented."

"If you ams excusing me ladies, I haves an important engagement."

"But surely-" Marie asked. People did not usually just leave her.

"My sincerest apoglogies." Toki bowed and stormed off.

"Is he well?" asked Marie Antoinette, irritated.

"Oh, I believe so," said Yolande. She wanted to keep her friend's secret. "I think he's very excited."

"Of course!" said Marie, taking out her fan. "I do hope they will play together!"

Toki sat in his dark, gloomy chamber with a grimace on his face. He was holding his toy soldier closely.

He had had only had two real friends in his home in Norway- his old nurse Alva, and her husband, a groundskeeper named Hjalmar. They were talkative and earthy where his parents were silent and oppressively pious.

It been Toki's seventh birthday, and he had received nothing as usual. He had not expected anything, but he was in the kitchen with Alva and she, out of pity of the child, was serving him a tart and milk. The boy loved sweets, and that was a blessing, because at least that was something she could make for him. She never could have afforded anything out of the meager salary she received from Count Wartooth, but she was tricky in her way and knew how to filch honey and fruit from the store in the kitchen. It was something for the child- too often she was unable to protect him from the senseless cruelty of his parents, and it was a perpetual burden to her. Hjalmar, a large hulking man who seemed to have turned white from his life in the snow, dusted off his feet off at the door.

"Don't you let the cold in, you old fool!" said Alva. Her words were harsh, but her tone was surprisingly sweet. She a clear pretty voice though her body was worn from toil, and she clearly loved her husband.

"Hjalmar!" cried Toki, throwing himself against the man's rough clothes. He loved the feel of Hjalmar's bristly beard and even the melting snow on his body. Alva smiled on Toki as he set up a chair for her husband by the fire. He was such a kind- hearted boy. She didn't know how it was possible with parents like his.

Hjalmar slumped into the chair and frowned at Toki. "The barn elf has been bothering me again, boy." He should have called him 'young master,' but he had a keen sense that such titles would alienate the boy further. There was time enough for that.

"Fjosnisse?" asked Toki eagerly.

"Is that is name? Well, he's a pain in the neck I'll tell you. He wouldn't leave me alone until I promised to give you something." Hjalmar winked.

"He gave you something for me?" asked Toki, his jaw dropping in surprise. He sometimes left out snacks for the barn elf, but he could barely believe it.

"Oh, yes." Hjalmar beamed at his wife. He placed his leather sack on the floor, and pulled out a carved wooden figure. Alva giggled. Her husband loved to whittle, but he wasn't very good at it, and the soldier was an awkward figure with a big round nose. Her husband had carved the limbs and the head and painted them, and she had sewed it a soft cloth body and a suit of clothes. Toki needed something to hold onto at night.

Toki was afraid to touch it. He could barely believe it was for him.

"Take it, child," said Hjalmar and Toki carefully reached out his hands.

But Hjalmar pulled it back with an impish grin. Alva shook her head. The boy was so sensitive- it was cruel to play with him like that.

"Fjosnisse told me that he isn't really a soldier."

"He isn't?" asked Toki. The figure looked very much like one with his regimental uniform.

Hjalmar knelt down beside the boy and whispered. "He is- but he's a rock and roll soldier." He pulled out a tiny wooden electric guitar with a strap and put it around the soldier's neck. He had found a guitar in the barn the year before. It wasn't an electric guitar, but what they called a 'grampa's guitar.' With the help of his friend Laurits, a carpenter, he had restored it and given it to the boy, who had shown surprising talent.

Toki gasped, and in an act uncharacteristic to him, he snatched the soldier and held it to him.

Hjalmar and Alva chuckled. "What will you call him, boy?" asked Hjalmar.

"R-r-rockso," said the boy, beaming and cuddling the toy. "Rockso the rock and roll soldier."

Now that he was a grand courtier, Toki was a little embarrassed by Rockso, but he simply couldn't drop the habit. It felt so good to hold the soldier and remember the few good days of his youth. The clothes had gone ragged but Toki had stitched them up again by hand.

Cradling Rockso, he thought with bitterness on Skwigelf. Or _Baron Skwigelf_. _Sir Skwigelf_. These were honorary titles, without nearly the prestige of his own, but now he felt he had nothing on the Swede.

Toki eyebrows lifted as he formed a plan. He wasn't crafty by nature, and tried not to hurt people, but the envy was eating him alive. It wasn't fair that after all he had been though that he would have to risk losing everything. Skwigelf would have his countless ladies and his Order of the White Eagle to fall back on, but Toki would be left with nothing.

The Swede was arriving on the evening of the next day, and they were installing the Amp de Triomph in concert hall that night. It was the finest amp in France, and possibly in the world. Besides being a work of art in itself, with its intricately carved edges and gilding, it had a way of making any song sound explosive. Toki had used it in several of his concerts, and it had blown the audience out of the water.

But it was an amp after all, and Toki, without an official Roadie among his servants, had always done his own repairs. He knew how to alter it, to change it to the point where Skwisgaar would be sure to humiliate himself. The unwanted guest would pack up, and go home to Sweden, and Toki would remain the finest guitarist at Versailles.


	3. Chapter 3

Count Wartooth and his valet Bellanger crept into the salon where the great Skwisgaar would hold his formal concert that evening. The early morning sun shone through the corners of the heavy velvet curtains and the room, with its long columns and marble floor was basked in an ethereal gold hue.

Toki was dressed simply, with his hair tied back with a blue ribbon, and his face bare. His heart beat rapidly though he had every excuse to be in the salon, and even to tinker with that great machine, the glorious Amp de Triomphe.

Toki crouched by the huge golden amp, and rolled up his cuffs. Bellanger held out a tray containing his tools. The man, slim and quiet, was a clever with his hands, but knew nothing about music and could not assist him in the least.

"This will haves to be quicks," said Toki, unscrewing the back panel and biting his lip.

"Yes, my lord," said Bellanger, bowing. There were a massive numbers of cables in the back, more than Toki had ever seen. Still, it was much easier to make it sound bad than good. He began unhooking random cables, and was so focused on his work that he didn't hear heavy door open and the clack of heeled shoes on the marble.

"Ahem, my Lord, we have company" whispered Bellanger.

Toki carefully lifted eyes over the amp, and noticed a group of men gathered at the door. Heart beating, he walked out with the tools in hand. He had come up with several explanations beforehand, but none of them came to mind, and he could feel his face flushing as they turned toward him.

"Baron," said one of them, clearly a representative of Versailles. "You've had a long journey, let me escort you to your chambers. There will be plenty of time to practice in the afternoon."

"No," said a low voice. "I must sees it now."

There were three men besides the servant, all impeccably dressed. One of them made his way to the front. He was very tall, with piercing blue eyes and full lips. He wore long pale blue coat of the latest fashion with a lace cravat at his neck. His chin was held high and his eyebrow arched with disdain when he laid eyes on Toki.

Toki felt a contraction in his stomach as their eyes met. _No, not this_. A_nything but this_. It was a feeling he had known since early childhood and ardently repressed. His father had told him it was the vilest of sins, to lust after other men, and though it was quietly permitted at Versailles, he told himself it wasn't for him. The desire seemed to fade over the years, and he had been satisfied that he had recovered from a passing fancy. He liked women, women like the lovely Yolande, kind and small and tender. But the stranger, so much the opposite, with his intimidating height and cold beauty, sent a strange shiver through his body.

"What ams you doing?" asked the stranger fiercely. Only now he wasn't a stranger- that accent, so like his own- he had to be from the north, he could only be-

"Skwisgaar," said Toki, his eyes opening wide. He dropped a wrench, and Ballenger crouched to pick it up.

"Baron Skwigelf," spat the man. He walked towards him, and Toki involuntarily shrank back. "Must I repeats myself? What ams you doing in my concerts halls?"

Toki could not believe the incredible rudeness of this man, and yet he was still intimidated by him. He caught the glint of gold under the man's powdered hair and the delicate lines of lips as he spoke. His feelings vascillated between fascination and fury, and he forced the latter to win out.

"I ams making the repairs!" shouted Toki, holding back his shoulders to appear taller. He felt goosebumps rise up his arms as the man neared him, closer and closer until their faces were inches from one another. Toki's breath was held, and his stomach muscles were clenched, but he felt the man's warm breath on his face.

Then Baron Skwigelf spun away from him. His movements seemed to range between slow and steady, and rapid. The Swede crouched down behind the amp and studied the cables carefully. His face darkened and he rose his feet.

"What the fucks you thinks you doing?" he yelled, staring Toki in the face. "You ruins the amp! Idiot! " He lifted his hand as though he meant to strike him. Toki did not have the presence of mind to move, and the hand lingered for a second, two seconds. Then the Baron's expression softened, changing to something bordering on pity, and he dropped his arm.

"You seems young," he said in a low voice, turning away. "I won't tells your masters, but never touch an amp agains."

His master! So Skwigelf took him for a servant! He looked down over his crumbled clothes, and grit his teeth. No wonder! What a fool he was to wander Versailles like this at all.

"It ams good that you ams a noble now! For I will fights you!" he shouted, his face going red.

Skwigelf threw back his head and laughed. "You haves the spirit, I gives you that." He touched Toki's cheek lightly, and gave him a mocking smile.

Toki shuddered at the touch, and pushed Skwigelf's arm away. "I ams Baron Wartooth," he said, baring his teeth. "And you wills pay for this insult!"

The Swedes's face paled, and looked at him in horror. Toki almost pitied him, but he gloried in his rival's discomfiture. It helped him to rise above his initial reaction, that ill-suited fascination.

They faced each other, trembling, neither knowing what to say. It was too late for apologies- what Skwigelf had done, whether knowingly or not, was an unacceptable insult at Versailles, and Toki would be forced to fight him to preserve his honor.

"Are you prepared to fights me in the morning?" asked the Count.

"Naturallys," said the Baron, studying his nails. With his reputation as a lothario, he had been challenged to countless duels and had managed to wriggle out alive. But these had all been over ladies- it would a pity to fight such a charming, but woefully inept young man.

Toki watched the man and his nonchalant expression with mounting rage. He had never fought in a duel: no man had ever had a quarrel with him. But he knew how to hold his rapier and knew he would take great pleasure in piercing this man through the heart.

* * *

"You didn't!" said Yolande, when she heard the news. Her face had gone white.

"I did," said Toki forcefully. "He tooks me for a servants and raises his hand to me."

"Well…" said Yolande carefully. "What were you wearing?"

Toki frowned. "I wasn't wearing my bests clothes, but what matter is that?"

Yolande doubled over in laughter, and Toki's face reddened. "My dear Count, it was a simple mistake. This is nothing to duel over him. We'll see that you make it up with him."

Toki gritted his teeth. Yolande was a year or two older than him, but it disturbed him how much she treated him like a boy. He was a man, and wouldn't be laughed at, and he certainly wouldn't suffer being insulted by his rival.

"I think you fails to see the arrogance of his manners toward me," he said, grimacing.

Yolande lifted up her head, prepared to laugh once again, but when she noticed his stony expression she coughed lightly, and suppressed her smile. She would have to try another tactic. Sighing gently, she reached out her hand toward his. It was so warm, and he felt a strong temptation to pull it to his lips and kiss it.

"Must I fear for your life over a single mishap?" she asked, her eyes growing misty.

He trembled slightly. She had never shown such concern over his welfare. But he knew these court ladies, and he secretly suspected that she would never respect him if he allowed himself to be coddled.

"My dear lady," he said, pulling his hand away and turning from her. "I ams not at ease with such a stains on my honors." It occurred to him that he was rather enjoying this play- his own speeches, Yolande's concern, and the potential of triumphing over this rival of his.

Then his mind wandered against his will to the Swede with his inherent grace, his lithe body, those haughty, sensuous lips. He imagined that velvet waistcoat stained with blood, and his heart stopped for a moment. This was no play, and the outcome would be death for one of them. And to destroy such beauty in its prime- the artist in Count Wartooth struggled with the thought, before his rational self banished it.

He stared in Yolande's deep, pleading brown eyes, before he turned away from her. It seemed that everything and everyone was in league against him. But he was familiar the trickery of the court: it was enough to drive one mad. They would plead for mercy one moment, then to call the merciful one a coward the next.

"I will fights him- I don't cares! I must!" he cried.


	4. Chapter 4

_Just a note- _Cornichon_ is one of the French words for 'Pickle' so yes, he is our dear drummer Pickles. _

* * *

That afternoon Count Wartooth took his usual walk over the palace grounds, trying to clear his head. The concert would be that night, and the duel was set for the next morning. It made him ill to think of it, but he really wanted to hear Skwigelf play. Envy aside, was he really as magnificent as they said? He certainly would have presence on stage.

A mournful feeling overtook him. One of them would likely die the next day. He thought of the gray faces of his parents, and the feel of his fingers over the guitar strings for the first time. He thought of Versailles and all its beauties and the lap dogs running over his feet while Yolande laughed. And he felt a desperate urge to abandon his pride, and simply listen, listen to the guitar as it was meant to be played.

Toki felt a hand on his shoulder, and he turned around swiftly. Marie Antoinette was behind him, and, to his surprise, she was panting. She had been running after him. She wasn't the sort who ever seemed to exert herself. Life was effortless to her.

"Count. Wartooth," she gasped. Her features pinched together in a scowl and she seemed almost unattractive. "I've heard the most horrible rumor."

Toki parted his lips slightly, prepared for the worst. Who knew what they were saying about him?

"You aren't dueling with Skwigelf, are you?"

So that was it. He wished he hadn't confided in Yolande. "I ams, my Queen. Tomorrow." He spoke politely, but firmly.

"You can't! It's impossible!" Her eyes widened. "He's my guest here, Count! And it's silly anyway, he's of no birth at all."

"But as you says, he ams a Baron and a Knight."

She laughed, betraying a hint of desperation. "All that? It was only a joke."

"It ams no joke. Friedrich Wilhelm made him a Barons, and he haves insulted me. I must haves my honor."

She buried her face in her hands, and he was afraid she was going to cry. "Oh, my poor dear Count, how can you be so foolish!" Marie could not bear to lose either her celebrated guest or her dear protégé. It was an absolute disaster.

"I know!" she said, her face brightening. "I will bring him here! You will make amends."

"Impossibles, your Highness." Toki shrunk away in horror.

"Not when you're the Queen," she said, raising her eyebrow mischievously. "Oh here he comes!"

Swisgaar was making his way down the flowered path with a companion, a short, spare man with unpowdered red hair.. Skwisgaar looked with surprise at the Queen and Toki, and seemed at loss for words.

"Good days, Baron Wartooth," he said, though his words were forced. The queen's eyes darted between the Swede and the Norwegian, and the vexation on her face was clear.

"Your Highness, may I presents my drummer, Monsieur de Cornichon." Cornichon bowed deeply, if not elegantly. He had delicate features dotted with freckles and green eyes that seemed to not be focused on anything. But as he rose they fixated on the queen, and his face glowed.

"Pleased to meetcha, your most gracious highness." The queen pursed her lips a little. She loved adoration, and the small man was clearly in awe of her presence. But though he was French his accent was terribly provincial, and it pained her to even listen to it. But a drummer! The addition of a drummer to the electric guitar was a great novelty, and she couldn't contain her excitement to hear him play with the Baron.

"What a pleasure to have you at our court, Monsieur de Cornichon," she said graciously, bestowing a warm smile on him.

The drummer's face reddened, and he looked as though he would faint from happiness. Baron Skwigelf laughed a little at him. It was the first time Toki had seen him truly smile, and it seemed strange to him.

Marie Antoinette put her hands on her hips and pouted. "What is this I hear about a duel tomorrow?"

Skwigelf bowed deeply, and stared at Toki with mocking eyes as he rose. "Such matters am nots for ladies," he said softly.

"Ha!" she said, lifting up her delicate nose. "And I am not a lady, but your Queen. You are my guests and will conform to my will."

Toki glanced upwards and met Skwigelf's insolent gaze. Perhaps he thought he was a coward and had appealed to the queen on purpose.

"And for us it ams a matter of honor," said Toki delicately.

"So," said the queen, turning gently to Cornichon. "What do you make of this, Monsieur de Cornichon?"

Cornichon kneaded his hat in his fingers. "I-I," he stammered. "I have agreed to second Baron Skwigelf in the duel, your Highness."

"What troubles my guests make for me behind my back!" she said indignantly, and turned from them. Cornichon reached out his hands desperately, dropping his hat. His mouth was moving, and he was struggling for words.

Skwigelf smiled at his friend, and his eyes turned to Toki. Toki repressed a shudder. He hated the chilling effect those eyes had on him, and worse yet, the taunting jut of the full lips under the high cheekbones. And yet he couldn't help staring back. He had little idea what expression he was making- whether it was defiant, proud, or, horror of horrors, _pleading_, pleading for his enemy to have mercy and look away.

"I think my little friends is disorient-nated," said Skwigelf, butchering the word but not aware of it in the least. "They were very liberals with the wines this morning, and my poors Cornichon has a weakness."

Count Wartooth had no wish to make small talk with Skwigelf, but he felt sorry for the small red-haired man. He hoped he wouldn't make a fool of himself in front of the queen.

Her back was still turned, and Cornichon was on his hands and knees, fumbling for his hat. Barely thinking about it, Toki took one arm and Skwigelf the other, and they hauled him to his feet. When the queen faced them again, his hat was on back his head and he looked reasonably respectable.

"I've had a thought, and a very clever one," she said, lifting her head and smiling. "You must have your little duel of honor, silly as it is," she pointed her finger at them, as though they were small children. Toki was used to it, but he enjoyed Skwigelf's discomfiture at this treatment. "But," she continued. "It won't be with swords."

She laughed aloud, showing her white teeth. "As you're both excellent guitarists, I propose a guitar duel."

"A guitars duel?" asked Skwigelf, looking Toki with confusion.

"Yes, Count Wartooth is an excellent guitarist," she said, proud of her friend. Little did she know the disdain professionals held for noble musicians. They were fawned over for minor achievements simply because of their titles.

The Baron's lips twisted, but he betrayed no concrete emotion. "I wasn't awares, your Highness," he said dully.

" It will entertain the court," she said. "And there will be no ridiculous bloodshed over nothing."

Swigelf's voice was low. "I would not discounts bloodsheds. I don't think you have hearing me plays, your Highness."

"Such self-importance!" she said, smiling, and Skwigelf frowned as much as he dared.

"I will dos as you bids me, if Count Wartooth ams agreeing." He looked down at Toki, his lips trembling with amusement. Toki felt a great sense of foreboding, perhaps greater than when he had imagined death. His guitar was his heart, his life, and he was not sure he could bear to be humiliated by the Baron. But perhaps he had something in him greater than he knew, and perhaps he had a chance to succeed. And he would not have the prospect of the murder on his hands. Some part of him still felt an urge to pierce the Swede straight through the heart, but the death of someone so vital, even his enemy, seemed a cruel thing. He felt as though he were damned either way.

He lifted his eyes first to Skwigelf, then to the queen and answered, controlling the vibrato of his voice. "I ams agreeing."

"Splendid," she said, clapping her hands.

Toki envied her with her joy and her small enchanted world, so rich with pleasures. But perhaps he was wrong: sometimes the most frivolous people were hiding from something.

"And we must set it for next week, to give you gentleman something to come up with."" She smiled wickedly. "And to build some anticipation in the court. Perhaps Monsieur de Cornichon could set the rules?"

Cornichon smiled foolishly. He was obviously delighted in spite of his inebriation.

"Or would that be unfair to you, Count Wartooth?" asked the Queen. " After all, Cornichon is a friend of the Baron's."

Toki considered for a moment. Cornichon seemed so simple and kind, if a little…tipsy. In any case he was nothing like his friend. It might be foolish to trust him, but he had no reason not to.

"I thinks that ams an excellent idea." He said, nodding towards Cornichon, who smiled back.

"And my dear Count Wartooth, you will come to the concert tonight?" she pleaded. Toki struggled to hide his distaste. There was nothing he would like less than to have everyone see his reaction to Skwigelf's playing. But perhaps he could slump in the shadows and make a quick exit before he was barraged with questions.


	5. Chapter 5

Toki crept into the salon at the last possible moment. He had to be here: it was the Queen's orders, but not just that. He needed to get it over with. He needed to hear Skwigelf play.

Toki remembered earlier years, when he had just reached manhood and lived in relative seclusion in Lillehammer. He had felt like such a nobody, as though he had been exiled from all real society. It was there he had first heard of the great Skwisgaar Skwigelf. There were tales of the electric guitar played beyond human comprehension, and of the whirlwind of passion it inspired.

What had happened? Why was he now so fiercely envious of his hero? In the dreary Norwegian winter he had longed passionately to hear this master, and followed the tales of his exploits from Mallorca to St. Petersburg. And now was the moment, the moment when he would finally attend a concert, and he was doing so reluctantly.

But he was older now, past the age of making idols of men. Especially when the man in question had shown his arrogance so clearly.

The room was brilliantly lit, and an overhead chandelier cast a radiant glow over the front of the room. Toki huddled in the back, behind the large columns that divided the room, next to the heavy curtains.

He could see Yolande in the front, looking about anxiously. There was an empty chair where she had placed her fan, the Japanese one with the black enamel. He felt his heart throb. She was saving a seat for him. He longed to sit down beside her and engage her, to watch her eyes spark with interest as he told her some story from his childhood. It seemed as though Skwigelf had severed him from everything.

A man scurried in and snatched the seat besides Yolande. Toki saw her open her mouth in protest, before realizing it was her husband, Jules, the Duke of Polignac. They were essentially separated but the Duke would appear from time to assert that yes, she belonged to him. Where she was gentle and playful, he was harsh and humorless, and had a nasty habit of criticizing her before the court. It was something Toki could barely stand to watch, but Yolande accepted it as the course of life. And she was right in a way- a married woman had few rights when it came to her husband.

Sighing, Toki sunk deeper into the curtains, a sour feeling in his stomach. He shut his eyes, trying to forget where he was, when a single note jolted him awake.

He opened his eyes to find himself staring directly at Skwisgaar Skwigelf.

Skwigelf was holding his guitar, _the guitar_, the famous black and white Thunderhorse. The Swede's eyes clouded over as though with ecstasy, and his lips pursed together in an extremity of concentration. His heels were higher than usual, and he seemed at that moment of immense height. He towered over the crowd like an obelisk. The overhead light cast long shadows over his cheekbones, making him seem haughtier, fiercer, even crueler. He was dressed in burgundy velvet, and there was a black beauty mark above his lip. Toki noticed a touch of darkness around his eyes, which brought out the intensity of their blue, even from a distance.

There was a collective holding of breath. Several of the women clutched their stomachs, barely able to gasp within their tightly bound stays. Skwisgaar bowed, but it seemed it was not so much a mark of respect, but a calculated dance step, an acknowledgement of his own power of enchantment.

He began his song, and the room seemed to alter. It seemed to Toki to be misted over, less than fully real. He leaned back against the wall, and a small groan escaped his lips. It was an agony, and yet so powerfully enticing to hear such music: the escalating arpeggios, the course of song rising and falling, the thrilling wail of the high notes, and the sinking sorrow of the low.

Skwigelf pulled back, letting Thunderhorse rest against his groin. He sank into the trance of playing, and lured the audience with him. Several strands of hair came lose as he moved his head and played with increasing speed, an alarming speed, revolutionary and yet the unspoken desire of every listener. The energy of the audience, even politely seated, was palpable. Several small cries erupted from ladies, an unprecedented occurrence.

He performed the final chord, and a small grin crept over his face, as the audience burst into wild applause. Toki felt paralyzed. He had an urge to join them, but he physically couldn't. A small bead of sweat fell from his forehead. His body was buzzing with the electric impulse of the guitar and the chords and riffs, one after another, echoed through him. His rage, his envy, they were dulled by an aesthetic impulse far more powerful. He knew they would return again but for the moment he only wanted to sink into the music and let it conquer his senses.

With a regal sweep of his arm, Skwisgaar introduced Cornichon. The crowd clapped politely, not knowing who he was, but it doubled over on itself when a drum set was carried, piece by piece, onto the stage. They were thrilled by the prospect of hearing the electric guitar and drums together.

Toki feared that the drums would distract from the guitar, but they complimented each other. The deep rhythm formed a powerful background as Skwigelf's solo rose higher and higher. Toki wondered at moments if he would simply lift off the ground. Whatever the speed, his fingers were steady and sure, and never made a single error. It maddened Toki, this excessive perfection, but what was worse was the raw feeling behind it- he wasn't a technician, but an artist. The familiar jealousy seeped in, but Toki still could not overpower the overwhelming sense of awe.

At times Toki felt as though his legs would not support him, and he clutched the velvet curtain beside him. He found himself fixating on details- a bead of sweat that glittered like gold on Skwigelf's forehead, the clench of his jaw as he moved into more technically advanced phases, and its release when he slipped into slower, dreamier phases. He noticed the strength of his fingers, the flexible tendons of his wrists, his tongue that ran over his teeth, his teeth that bit the full lips as he concentrated. It was a strange madness, all these details, and Toki felt sorrow, and also an intense relief as the song drew to a close.

The concert was over, and Toki was mentally and physically drained. Everything seemed so go silent, and slower, much slower. He watched the bowing figure of Skwigelf, the fainting ladies, the flowers and diamond brooches and silk gloves that littered the stage. Swigelf picked up a single satin glove, kissed each of its fingers, and with a playful smile flung it back into the crowd. The courtiers, normally so controlled, fell into a grasping heap trying to get hold of it.

He stayed on when Skwigelf left the room, and courtiers dispersed, one by one. He had chosen a good hiding spot- the shadows of the curtains left him well concealed. Two figures remained, standing in the open area where Skwigelf had been playing. Toki watched without interest as they spoke rapidly, their arms gesticulating. And suddenly it came to him- they was Yolande and her husband. The Dukehad her shoulders in his grip, and was shaking her. Her head was bent to the side in pain and humiliation. He could hear them now-

"I saw you watching him- have you no shame?"

"I was just watching the concert!" she cried. "Just like you!"

"Anyone could see what you were thinking!" His fingers pressed deeply into her arms.

"Stop it, Jules," she said, her voice cracking. He noticed a tear slip over her cheek. "You're hurting me."

"And I'll hurt you a lot more before I'm done." His large teeth were bared, and with his slim nose and round eyes he resembled a cadaver. "You're a born whore."

Coming out of his trance, Toki reached out his arm, and took a step forward, but a figure stepped in from the corner. It was Skwigelf, and Toki's body froze.

"What the fucks are you doing?" asked Skwigelf, casting an angry glance at the Duke.

"Oh, it's the prince himself!" said Jules. "Your Majesty!" he said, imitating a deep curtsey. "The bastard prince himself!"

Skwigelf snarled and stepped up towards the Duke. He had at least a foot on him, and the Duke shrank back. He gripped Yolande by the wrists and shoved her towards Skwigelf. "You want him so bad, then go to him!" He sneered and turned towards Skwigelf. "She's not worth much, but you're welcome to her. A bastard and a whore. A pretty picture."

The Duke hurried from the room. Skwigelf laughed bitterly. "A cowards. He was afraids to haves to fight me."

He looked down at the woman on her knees, who was crying bitterly. "Shhh," he said, taking her hand and lifting her to her feet. "Quiets. He's gones now."

Toki felt his face reddening. That was supposed to be him. He should be there, supporting Yolande. He felt slightly ill as Skwigelf placed his arms protectively over her shoulders. "He hurts you?"

"No, no," she whispered, brushing off her shoulder. "He's not so horrible. He just doesn't like me looking at other men."

"Pffft," said the Swede. "He's horribles. I've seen so manys of him. Venice, Lisbon, Amsterdam- there's always ones. Come here."

He put his arms around her, and she cried into his shoulder.

"Would you like to takes a walk?" He asked. She nodded briskly, wiping her eyes. Skwigelf gave her his arm, and they walked through the glass doors towards the palace grounds.

Toki emerged from the corner, stunned. What was Skwigelf doing? Was he trying to help Yolande or- the thought horrified him- seducing her? A intense sadness, something akin to mourning, overtook him. He didn't know exactly what he was grieving- the blow to his pride, his failure to help Yolande, or the prospect of losing her to Skwigelf- whatever it is, a sickness overcame him. He hurried from the salon, through the long halls, and into the depths of his gloomy chamber, into darkness.


	6. Chapter 6

_Well, it seems I have a talent for turning fluffy pieces into pure angst against my will..._

_ So many thanks to Ceinwen, Followsleep, and you too, toolazytologin (love that name!) for sticking with this experiment. And 10 points to Mordhaus if you can guess who Dr. Muertrevisage is! Shouldn't be that hard… :)_

* * *

The next day Toki stayed in bed until noon. He rose languidly- it seemed as though every limb was weighing him down. He leaned his forehead against his hand as he slipped into the hallway. He had barely slept and he had a nasty headache.

Passing the grand staircase, he caught sight of Marie Antoinette and the court physician. They made quite the contrast- Marie was pretty and light while the doctor was heavy set with a features that looked like random lumps of clay.

"Toki!" called Marie. She smiled at him, but he was immune to her charm at this moment. "Did you enjoy the concert last night?"

She could not realize how cruel her question was, and he murmured a faint 'Yes,' but she was barely listening anyway.

"Have you met our royal Physician, Dr. Meurtrevisage?" She laughed aloud. "Likely not- he's such a busy man, aren't you Docteur?"

The doctor bowed deeply even while holding a tray of tonics. "I am alwaysh at your shervish, your highnesh." He had a thick lisp, probably due to the huge gap in the front of the his teeth. With his massive curled wig he looked like a deformed poodle. He probably knew it too: his face was pressed into a deep scowl.

Marie laughed aloud. "He's been assisting all over the court. There were so many fainting ladies, and sadly not enough cavaliers to catch them. But you'll bring them to, won't you Docteur, with your famous tonic?"

The Physician lifted up his nose. "I assure you, my Queen." What nobody knew was that the famous Eau de Planète was half urine. His urine.

Marie smiled as Dr. Meurtrevisage hurried up the stairs. "I have to admit I'm rather fond of him," she said. "Even if he is a bit of dick."

Toki looked up at her in surprise. He had never heard her utter a coarse word.

She sniffed at his reaction. "You didn't expect to hear me say that?" she said, toying with the cuff of his sleeve before slipping her hand into the crook of his arm. "Oh, Count, you can be so innocent sometimes! We're going to have to put on you on the first ship back to Norway."

Toki's body stiffened. He knew it was a joke- only a joke, but it made him sick inside. It hit too close to his greatest fears.

"Now, walk with me," she said, tilting her face towards his. Her dogs appeared at her feet and followed them down the steps of the terrace. Marie hummed to herself and plucked a random flower as they passed under a trellis. Then her quick eyes darted to the fountain.

"Is that Baron Skwigelf and the Duchess of Polignac?" she asked, her face brightening, as she motioned to two figures seated on the fountain's edge.

Toki kept his features steady in the queen's presence, but he felt like crumbling from within. Yolande was dressed in satin with string of pearls around her neck, and Skwisgaar wore a long grey coat. They were leaning towards each other, their shoulders nearly touching. Yolande's finger's played in the fountain, and with a quick gesture she splashed Skwigelf slightly, causing him to jump backwards. The two of them laughed, and drew together again.

"They've been together since this morning," said Marie, opening her parasol. "In my opinion," she whispered, "There's something between them."

"You mean…" Toki took her hand in both of his and looked at her earnestly.

"I have no idea what I mean," she said, lifting her finger to her lips. "Oh, it's Monsieur Cornichon!" She motioned toward the terrace. "I must speak with him! He's promised to teach me to do shots- have you heard of it? I think it's something like backgammon." She turned away with a flounce of her skirts.

The day passed, then the next. Toki sat in the library on the third afternoon, staring mournfully out the window. It had been an hour since Skwigelf and Yolande had walked this way, but they hadn't come by again.

It had gone too far, and he had to take action. He had to find Skwigaar alone- or should it be Yolande? He had no idea which of them to confront. He had spoken to Yolande the day before, but she had seemed not to notice his bitter expression or one word replies to her questions. There had never been any real understanding between them. But there had surely been something there! It was never spoken, but alluded to in gestures and glances.

He was shaken from his reverie by a deep voice. "You reads the books here?" He turned sharply, and faced the Baron.

"Swigelf," said Toki dully. It half greeting and half accusation.

"It's Baron Skwigelf," said the Swede, running his fingers along the rows of books. He took a seat facing Toki. "You can calls me Skwisgaar."

Toki's eyes pursed together and he folded his arms. "No, Skwigelf suits me fines."

The Swede grunted. "It ams good we're going to duels next weeks then. Otherswise I'd haves to fights you again today." In spite of his hard words, there was a slight smile on his lips.

"Your French is terribles," said Toki, sneering.

"Ja," said Skwigelf, adjusting a lock of hair. "But it ams never a problems for me."

Toki's face flamed. "Yes, it ams all so easies for you! The money, the fame- the _womens_."

"That ams true," said Skwisgaar.

Toki's eyes narrowed. "Then perhaps ones less won't hurt you. Stay the fucks away from Yolande."

Skwisgaar learned back in the chair. His eyebrows rose and he studied Toki. "Ah," said. " It ams about _that_."

"You finds her crying and you takes advantage of her."

"How did you-" Skwisgaar's lips pursed together and he looked out the window. "It wasn't likes that. We ams friends."

A wave of relief passed over Toki. "You swears to me? On your honors?"

Skwisgaar shrugged. "Well, we mades the love in bed, if that's what you ams asking."

Toki buried his face in his hands. It had been terrible not knowing, but knowing- it was worse. He was afraid to raise his head for fear of the Swede's expression, always mocking. But when he looked up Skwisgaar's face was full of concern.

"I didn't knows…" he said slowly, his eyebrows crinkling together. "You loves her?"

Love her? And it dawned on Toki that he had never thought to ask himself. But it hurt, and badly.

"You knows when you feels something, something strong but you don't knows quite what it is…" Toki didn't realize why he was trying to explain himself Skwigelf, but he couldn't help himself. He looked up into the Swedes face, and the dark blue eyes were fixed on him. "And you wants it- you wants it badly, but you don't thinks there's a chance…."

Skwigelf's pupils dilated. "Ja," he said slowly, his gaze never leaving Toki's face. "I knows the feelings well."

Toki turned away. "I hardly believes you. You just fucks and forgets." He balled his hands into fists. "Oh, Gods, not Yolande…"

"Listens," said Skwisgaar fiercely, leaning in towards him. "She ams not nothings to me. She's a sweets ladies, and lonely, and I thinks I makes her happy for a whiles. And she knows I goes…" at this point his voice trailed off before he continued. "She knows I must goes soon, but we ams friends."

"I don't believes you. You don't cares about her, and you takes her, you just takes her leaving me with nothing and-"

He paused. There was a stricken look on Skwigelf's face, and he was clutching the edge of the chair until his knuckles were white. His lips parted as though he meant to speak, and then closed again.

He didn't took so intimidating then, just like a man, and vulnerable one. The change frightened Toki. He barely knew what he could believe anymore. But the man was an actor in a way, a performer, and could deceive him with appearances.

Toki took a step backward, and nearly stumbled on the chair behind him. Collecting himself with a deep breath, he made for the door, and slammed it behind him.

* * *

He had not intended to seek out Yolande- what could he possibly say to her? He wondered if he judged her. In his mind Skwigelf had callously taken advantage of her, of the cruelty she suffered under the Duke.

But how could she succumb to him so quickly? This was a time where virtue was to be strictly guarded. Things were far more lax at Versailles so long as they were discreet. In Lillehammer Yolande would be shut up and ostracized- under the strict Lutheran doctrine of his community she would have lost everything. But Toki had known religion with all its confinements and none of its love and mercy. Beauty and joy and the thrill he felt when his fingers grazed the electric guitar meant so much more to him than any prayer.

He didn't have to seek out Yolande after all- she came to him. There was a tap on the door of his chambers, and Bellanger had announced her. She wasn't supposed to come in, and he had never wanted her to- his apartment was dim and lifeless, without any real taste. It was a relic of his father. He had meant to remodel it, but he had never felt secure enough to invest the money and time. It had always seemed to him, in the back of his mind, that the hours would run out, and he would be sent home.

He hesitated before letting Bellanger escort her in, but she brushed past the valet with a steady courage, and found herself in his presence. He was seated in bed with a trashy novel in his lap. He had been trying to scan it, hoping the obscene love scenes would elicit some reaction in him, but they had only sickened him.

Yolande looked around her in dismay. These rooms- they had no soul. They were sparse, empty, and dark. What a place for such a charming man to hide himself away! Worse yet was the Count himself- his pale eyes were dull, and his handsome features had grown pale. Her eyes darted to the book in his lap- she knew what it was, and blushed, but he made no effort to hide it.

Yolande looked lovely to Toki, even in the greyish light of the room. Her cheeks were glowing and her hair was artfully tousled, with a single brown curl trailing down her bare shoulder. But he turned his head from her, staring out the grimy window.

"My dear Count," she said, gently reprimanding him. "What are you reading?"

Toki only shrugged. "What should it matters to you? We finds our comforts in our own way." He looked her straight on, and his normally bright eyes chilled over.

She sat on the edge of the bed, her arm making a perfect curve as she supported herself. Why did she have to do everything so gracefully? It infuriated him.

"What has happened to you?" she asked, her features illuminating. "You won't speak a word to me, and you've been shut up in here for days."

Toki's lips twisted downward and he turned from her.

"I know it's hard for you. You've always been so talented, and Baron Skwigelf is a great guitarist-"

"You've taken quite the interests in him," said Toki bitterly. "Some might say too much of an interests."

Yolande's face paled. Her lips moved, and Toki wasn't sure if he enjoyed her discomfiture or if it saddened him.

Her head fell. "You know then."

"Oh yes, I knows." His voice was hard and brittle, and he feared it would crack.

"Toki- you have to understand…" her voice trailed off.

"Oh, I understands. Perfectly. He's been with half the womens in Europe, and why not one more? You makes a fools of yourself- and for him?"

Her face flashed. "Oh, no, I don't think I'm the fool here. There's only two years between us, but sometimes I think you're young- too young to understand these things. I don't speak of it, because it's unseemly, but I don't think you realize what I've suffered at the hands of my husband. And it seems I can never speak of it, but must keep this constant silence." Her mouth pursed together. "I know what Skwisgaar is, Count Wartooth, and don't think I'm expecting him to sweep me away. But he had the kindness to comfort me at a terrible time, and if it went beyond that- it simply happened. No, I don't love him, but he is a dear friend to me and I won't have him made a foul seducer."

He couldn't turn to face her, and was silent. Too many thoughts were circling though his mind. Yolande walked to the door, but turned towards him as her hand was on the doorknob.

"I hope you will think over what I said, Toki," she said gently. She was usually strict with titles, and when she used his name it was a sign of special tenderness. "Don't hate me, and don't condemn Baron Skwigelf. I know what you are, and it doesn't suit you." With a sigh, she lifted up her skirts and left the room.

Toki threw the book to the wall, and forced himself out of bed. He pulled aside the heavy grey curtain, and stared out into the brilliant summer sun that cast a patina of gold over the treetops. He could barely process the thoughts churning within. The worst of it was that in all his admiration of Yolande, he had barely thought of her suffering. She had been to him a thing of beauty, and he had longed for her wise council and her friendship. She had comforted him, but he had never thought to protect her.

She was right. He was still in many ways a child. And then Skwigelf- the famous lothario, the heartless lover- he had made a friend of her and unearthed the secret pain in her heart. Unearthed it- no, it had been painfully obvious, and only he, Toki, had been oblivious to it.

But why did it have to go further? Why did she have to give herself to him? And his mind wandered reluctantly to the long winter nights at Lillehammer, to that loneliness bordering on madness. He had craved someone to hold, and that need for comfort had melded with a fierce lust. During those hours his heart and mind and body had conspired together to create an unquenchable longing. It was too recent, and he still had those hours, even here in the beauty of Versailles. No, he couldn't condemn her, and Skwigelf- Toki thought of that face in the library, so unguarded and in its uncharacteristic softness, so _beautiful_. But he wouldn't think about that, not now.


	7. Chapter 7

_I wasn't planning to introduce more characters from the show, but by toolazytologins's suggestion, I have included Nathan in this chapter. I present to you Nathan in his personal nightmare! _

* * *

It was morning and Toki had overslept. The night before he had been up until the early hours, playing his fingers raw. He groaned as he pushed himself up against the pillows before collapsing again. He had had that dream, the odd one, and it stuck with him like a lingering scent. He would see Yolande, and then Skwisgaar, switching between one and the other until they became as one person, with a single voice. It had been eerie, skin-crawling at times, and yet filled him with a strange longing. He shook his body as though to rid himself of the sensation.

Bellanger approached the bed, carrying an envelope on a silver tray. Toki hesitated before opening it. It was scented with sandalwood and the handwriting was long and graceful.

_My Dear Count Wartooth,_

_I hope you will join me tonight for a small party at the Petite Trianon after dinner. I hear you have been low in spirits- poor man!- but please don't deny me your company. It will only be a gathering of close friends._

_Warmest Regards,_

_Marie Antoinette._

So she had heard he had been unhappy. Who had told her? He doubted she had noticed herself. Sweet as she was, she had a way of missing people's most essential features. It was a kind of blindness that could only stem from royal birth. Knowing that all her companions were subordinate to her, she had a bad habit of ignoring attributes that did not pertain to her. Perhaps that was why she had no many poor advisors, and was gaining a unenviable reputation outside the court. But she was still so young, and had good instincts: he had no doubt she would grow wiser with age.

Wiser with age- he thought of what Yolande had said two days before, that he was still childish. He had resolved not to brood anymore. The feelings lingered, and at times he such pangs that he only wanted to curl up in bed and shut his eyes. But for the most part it seemed as though he were a haze, that he was under the spell of strange apprehensions and feelings as inexplicable as his dream.

At any rate he would show himself before the court and dispel any rumors of 'low spirits' as best he could. They would only be attributed to the duel, which was two days away. He couldn't let them believe that he was afraid. Though the possibility was slim, he felt in the very marrow of his bones that there was indeed a chance for him to triumph. But for now he had to put on a brave face, and appear bold and clever at Marie Antoinette's party.

* * *

There were no courtiers lingering by the gate of the Petite Trianon. This was unusual for one of Marie's gatherings, and stranger still was the absence of any manservant at the door. He pushed it open himself, and stared into the long, empty hall.

"Hello?" he called, and his voice reverberated over the columns and chandeliers. Was this a practical joke?

But then he heard it- joyous laughter, loud and distinct, and he could have sworn it was Marie Antoinette herself, only it was so unrestrained, wanton even, that he doubted himself. He hurried in the direction of the voice, and reached a small salon decked with opulent sofas and mirrors with gilded edges.

Marie was dressed as a shepherdess, but in white satin with her bust festooned with blue ribbons. Her light hair was unpowdered and tumbled over her shoulders. She was pressed up against a very happy Cornichon, with her hip raised so that she was nearly sitting on his knee. Between them they held a large book and were reading it with so keen an interest that they didn't notice Toki. They made such an odd picture that he was tempted to watch them unobserved, and pulled back behind the door.

A pitiful bleating emerged from the corner of the room and he suppressed a laugh as one lamb, then another crossed in front of the sofa.

"And then," read Marie from the book, " he fell to one knee, sighing, and declared his eternal love. 'No,' she said, "My virtue is-"

"She talked about her virtue again." Said Cornichon. "Now you gotta drink." He held out a tray with small crystal glasses, no bigger than a thumb. They were filled with pink liquid.

"Ready?" asked Cornichon. "One, Two-" On the count of three Marie tipped back her glass but uttered a small cry of protest when the liquid failed to move.

Cornichon burst into laughter. "I gotcha there!" he said. "It's a gelatin shot. Ya gotta scoop it out- like this." He pushed his finger under the shot and it plopped into his mouth.

Marie Antoinette pouted. "How revolting!" She said.

"Well, my Queen certainly shouldn't eat with her hands." He produced a dainty silver spoon, and winking, handed it to her. She cried out, and in her enthusiasm, kissed his cheek. His face went scarlet.

"All right," he said, grinning. "One-Two-" Before he counted three, she had gobbled up the shot. "Oh, Cornichon!" She cried. "That was delicious! But now-" she frowned. "Now we're all out!"

"Don't worry," said Cornichon. "I gotcha covered. I had that servant of yours- what's his name? The black-haired one. I had him make more."

Marie's eyes widened. She picked up a small gold bell, and rang it. "Nathan!" She called.

The servant appeared, and he could not have looked more miserable. He was a hulking man with a broad chest and thick arms. His jet-black hair had been curled, but it was naturally straight, and so it simply fell into loose corkscrews around his scowling face. He was dressed as a shepherd with a short coat and breeches, both in satin, with blue bows on his buckled shoes. To make things worse, he wore a small apron lined with lace and blue ribbon.

"You, uh, rang, your highness?" he said in low, gravelly voice, his dark brows pushing together.

"Nathan, another round of shots," ordered Marie.

"The pink ones, like I told ya." added Cornichon.

Nathan shuddered. "Yes, your Highness," he grumbled, and stumbled gracelessly out of the room.

It was then that Marie noticed Toki. "Oh, Count Wartooth! It was so good of you to come!" She rose to take his hand, and giggling, fell back directly onto Cornichon. The drummer could barely believe his good luck, but with a short laugh, she pushed herself off of him, onto the sofa. "Cornichon has finally introduced me to shots!" She hiccupped, and placed her hand delicately over her mouth. "It's the most delightful thing. And we've been reading "The Perils of Constantia." Whenever Constantia says anything-hic!- about her virtue we have to take another shot. "

"And that means a lotta shots," said Cornichon.

Toki smiled and sat on the dense sofa facing them. "I didn't realize the party ams, well, so smalls." He said, looking around him.

"I told you it would be a imtimate, I mean inmit, um, a small gathering," she slurred. "Join us!" she said, handing him one of the shots.

"Nah, he's a real man," said Cornichon, laughing. He pulled out a bottle of cognac, and slammed a shot glass on the table in front of Toki.

"Nooo, Cornichon," wailed Marie. "He wants a pink shot!"

Actually, Toki would have much preferred the gelatin shot- he loved anything sweet and was really curious to try it. But he remembered his resolution to be more grown up, and nodded toward the cognac.

"Ya gotta catch up," said Cornichon. He poured glass after glass, and Toki downed them, though he wasn't in mood. Perhaps it would help him relax. Marie clapped her hands as Toki fell back against the cushions in a whirl.

"Feeling good?" asked Cornichon, lifting an eyebrow.

Toki nodded, but he wasn't sure. He certainly felt relaxed. The world seemed less concrete, and it gave him a sense of freedom.

"Well if you feel good now, wait 'til it really hits you!" said Cornichon. Toki spread his arms over the couch and studied the couple with amusement. They were truly mismatched: the low-born Cornichon with his coarse accent and receding hairline, and the elegant Marie Antoinette, Queen of France. Drinking really was a great equalizer. Cornichon snatched up one of the lambs and put its face to Marie's cheek. It gave her a lick and she screamed.

"My goodness!" She said, holding her hand to her breast. "I thought it was you!"

"I wish it was." He said slyly, and she pushed him over onto the sofa. The lamb pranced onto his chest, and began to lick his face. "Oh, your highness! I couldn't possibly!" said Cornichon with an exaggerated sigh and Toki and Marie burst into laughter. Toki plucked the lamb off Cornichon's chest and placed it on his lap. It bleated happily, and he couldn't resist the urge to hug it.

The sun was setting and golden rays ricocheted off one mirror to the next until the room was cast in dazzling light.

"Am I interrupsing something?" Skwigelf was standing on the door, his hands on his hips and a look of amusement on his face. He was dressed in pure white, and in the stark brilliance of the room, light seemed to emanate from him. Toki looked up in a stupor, feeling the alcohol go straight to his head.

"Who ams that?" asked Skwigelf, motioning towards the lamb in Toki's lap.

"It it ams… nothing," said Toki quickly. He blushed and set the lamb on the ground. It lifted its head to Toki and bleated.

"He has no name?' asked Skwigelf. "How sads for him." He knelt down, and touched the creature's head. It seemed strange to Toki to see Skwigelf on the ground. He was so used to the tall, towering figure. But he still looked noble, as though he were preparing to be knighted.

"You got a name for him, your Highness?" asked Cornichon, leaning back with his arms over his head.

Marie shook her head and hiccuped. "I've got so many of them, if I started giving them names I'd forget all my courtiers."

"Can I suggests a name?" asked Skwigelf, rising.

"Of course," said Marie. Her face had a rosy glow, both from the light, and the alcohol.

Skwigelf lifted his walking stick, a masterpiece in ebony with a golden hawk at the tip. "I dubs thee," he said, tapping the lamb with the stick. "Thunderhorse!"

Marie clapped and burst into laughter, but Cornichon scowled.

"You can't name a lamb after your own guitar," he said. "How boring can you get?"

"I think it ams clevers," said Toki, though he was laughing too. They all looked at him in surprise, especially Skwigelf, whose eyes were wide open. It was the first nice thing he had said to the Swede, and he could hardly believe himself. But under an alcoholic daze, he felt warm and generous, and he continued. "He's like a little horses. It's funny because he's so smalls and weaks. I likes it."

"Ok," said Cornichon, lifting his glass. "If Count Wartooth likes it, who am I to object? Skwisgaar, you haven't had a drop to drink today."

"I must remedys that," said Skwisgaar. He glanced at Toki, and smiled, almost secretly, before accepting a glass of wine.

The room darkened, and Nathan was called in to the light the chandelier and the candelabras. Shadows flickered, and everything took on a mysterious glow.

There was only one seat left, on the sofa beside Toki. Skwisgaar looked down dubiously, and Toki nodded at him. He couldn't exactly refuse him.

Marie and Cornichon seemed lost in their own world, reading the insipid novel and laughing over it. Skwisgaar downed the wine quickly and frowned.

"I prefers something stronger." He said, reaching for the bottle. "In Sweden we has this drink called Brännvin*."

"You means Brennevin?" asked Toki, excited in spite of himself. He had gotten drunk for the first time off of Brennevin. His parents had viewed all spirits as evil, so Hjalmar had taken him to barn and let him try it. He liked the fierce, fiery taste, and missed it. He had never really thought about how he and Skwisgelf came from similar cultures.

"No," said Skwisgelf briskly. "I means Brännvin."

Toki grimaced, and Skwigelf must have noticed, because his voice softened. "I thinks we just calls it something different." Skwigelf turned to Toki with a look of concentration, then, pressing his forehead he turned away. He lifted up a third glass of wine and gulped it down.

"Careful," said Toki. "You ams going to choke."

"Pfft," said Skwigelf. "I won'ts be careful. Why shoulds I?" The Swede's profile looked strange and haughty in the candlelight. His full lips were pursed and his cheekbones were thrown into sharp relief. "You knows," he said, pouring himself a fourth glass. "I ams like that little lambs there."

Toki resisted the urge to laugh. Skwigelf could be many things, but certainly not a lamb.

"Thunderhorse- it was a good names, Ja?" Swigelf chuckled lightly. "You laughed. It was a good to hear you laughs."

Toki was silent, but felt his face glow.

"But that little lamb, he was nameless - like me."

"But you're-" Toki frowned.

"I'm Skwigelf. But that's my mother's name, not my father's. What does that makes me?"

Toki knew better than to say.

"A bastards," continued Skwigelf. His cheeks were now flushed from the wine. "Why do I tell you this?" He took a swig of wine. "You already despises me."

Toki winced. He didn't know how to answer Skwigelf, but no- he could not despise him. He had despised the cold man he had first met, he had despised the heartless seducer, but Skwisgaar- he was neither of those things. It took a kind of bravado to admit his origins in such plain words. It would have embarrassed any other aristocrat, but to Toki it revealed a wider world- that Skwigelf was a man with an origin. The aching power of his guitar, his unnatural beauty- it stemmed from an inner turmoil, and that brought Skwigelf to the living realm. But Toki said nothing, and the Swede's next words were hard and bitter.

"It ams not a nice worlds for a boy with no name." He said. "Not like a rich young Counts in his mansion."

Toki frowned. "It was nothings like that."

Skwigelf turned to Toki, and his lips were trembling. "You grows up in ease and plenty. You should be ables to admit that."

"I won't admits it, because it ams not true!"

Skwigelf's mouth fell open, and Toki realized he had been shouting. Marie Antoinette and Cornichon were both in a stupor, but they looked up at him in alarm.

"Forgives me," he said, turning from them.

"No," whispered Skwigelf. "Forgives me. I do not knows what you have lived, and yet I judges you. But I feels that I must haves something, because you look at me and you're always judging, as though you've lived some perfects life." He grabbed Toki's wrist and Toki froze. Their eyes were fixed together as though in some fatal contest, before Skwigelf pulled away.

"Forgives me," he said again. He removed his hand from Toki's wrist, but Toki felt a burning where the fingers had been. "I has too much to drink. Forgives me." Toki opened his lips to speak, but Skwigelf grabbed his cane and hurried from the room.

* * *

*_Brännvin_ is a Swedish word for liquor made from potatoes or grain. It includes, but is not limited to vodka. Brennevin is the Norwegian word.


	8. Chapter 8

_It's the dueling scene! Thank you again to everyone who has reviewed, and special thanks to toolazytologin for such thoughtful reviews- I had a huge smile on my face when I read your first one, and you've really inspired me to write more and better!_

* * *

Toki stretched out his fingers once again before slipping into the one of the many hidden hallways of Versailles. It was the morning of the duel, and he had been playing deep into the night. It had been invigorating, playing so late: it had cleared his mind of all its doubts and in spite of only three hours of sleep, he felt refreshed, courageous even. He thought of his ancestors who had gone off to reckless battles, manning long ships and rending their enemies' flesh from bone. In spite of his natural optimism, he sometimes felt a distinct attraction toward gore and chaos. It was a feature he hid, that he huddled tightly to him as he had held Rockso as a child. Perhaps that was one of the many elements that separated him form his friends at Versailles- for all his love of beauty, there was a seed of brutality in him.

Now his fingers felt nimble, as though they were ready to take on life of their own, to harness the electricity of the elements and cast them forth into an unrelenting stream of music. He looked overhead at ceiling fresco, at the unending stream of cherubs and goddesses, spilling forth fruit and flowers, and in his mind they altered. They became demons with reptilian scales and maidens of death holding poisoned spears. But still there was that perpetual harmony, the gift of the age of baroque. There was death and there was life, and with a clear hand they would meld and form the essential song.

His thoughts were broken by the sound of shoes on the marble, and Skwigelf was walking by with his familiar stride, long and languid. At any other time it would have maddened him, this easy confidence, but at the moment he felt resolute and steady. Thunderhorse was slung over Skwigelf's shoulder in a case nearly as famous as the guitar. It had been a gift of the Ottoman sultan Abdülhamid, whom Skwigelf was said to count as a personal friend, and was embroidered with thousands of pearls, garnets, and rubies in an intricate circular design.

Skwigelf turned to Toki, and greeted him with a cold bow. Toki returned the gesture, but when they rose, he noticed that there was a certain ferocity, what could be termed a hunger, in Skwigelf's eyes. It seemed to Toki that he meant to swallow him alive, and the familiar insecurity returned.

They were silent- it was clear that they both wanted to mention the duel that afternoon. But it was too sacred of a ceremony to be broached in simple conversation, and they simply faced each other. Toki felt a powerful force emanating from Skwigelf- how was it possible? But the man had a fierce power- the prospect of the duel had also energized him, and his rival was several times as dangerous as before.

* * *

They went by carriage to the ancient chateau where the duel would take place. The weather was fair, and a long line of carriages traveled over the dusty road under the broad summer sky. Toki insisted on riding horseback. His senses were too riled to sit still in the carriage, but he glanced over and saw Skwigelf reclining in perfect ease in his carriage. A warm breeze ruffled the Swede's powdered hair, and he ran his long fingers, those agile fingers just made for the guitar, over his scalp.

And this was the man had dared to tell him that _he_ had things easy. It Skwigelf who never seemed to suffer, Skwigelf who took things in his stride. He had told him, in a weak moment, that he was a bastard. But what did that matter when all the world seemed to fall in line before him? Toki was usually gentle with his horse, a dappled grey Lusitano mare he called Skjelve, but he dug his heels into her side. She was high strung, hence her name- Shiver-and she broke into a strong gallop, pulling him to the head of the parade of carriages and beyond. It was a relief to be alone, to feel the power of the horse beneath him, to smell the humid fragrance of summer, and to hear the call of hawks overhead.

He was the first to approach the gate of the fortress, a beautifully preserved Norman structure with high peaked red roofs. The gatekeeper studied him, and after careful deliberation, let him in.

The courtiers came soon after, though with their huge skirts and piled hair, it was an ordeal to get them out of the carriages undamaged. It was unusual for the entire court to attend an excursion, but everyone had insisted on coming. It would have been humiliating to admit to missing it- it would be akin to straight out stating that one was a nobody at court. There was a murmur as Marie stepped out in her finest court wear- she could not have been dressed more elaborately if she were going to her own coronation. Her dress was a glittering gold with long floral panels at the bust, and she wore a long cape. Usually such capes were held by the children of courtiers, and it was deemed to be a great honor. But no, Marie, with her usual blindness, had chosen the man who would be made the most unhappy by the duty- her manservant, Nathan. He was grimacing as usual, and her held her cape scrunched up in two powerful fists.

"Nathan!" she called. "Take care, you'll crumple it."

Nathan growled, and she laughed aloud. She found his ill humor delightful, and was certain he was devoted to her.

Cornichon scrambled out of the carriage behind her, and hopped onto the ground. The entire court was talking about the two of them. Though Marie had many intimate male friends, she really was taking it too far with him. He was a coarse outsider- a nobody, though his skills with the drum set were certainly in his favor. But the King was fond of Cornichon too: the drummer had given Louis XVI private lessons, and even had taught him to throw the sticks up in the air and catch them.

Marie Antoinette had insisted the concert be held outdoors though there was concern that it would not be loud enough. So the huge Amp De Triomphe had made its way in a cart of its own, with several servants to attend it. Toki studied it, and with a frown remembered his first encounter with Skwigelf. The memory made his blood boil, and that could only be to his advantage.

The Swede was leaning against a carriage, chatting with two eager young ladies who seemed to take any possible chance to touch him, whether it was stroking his arm while laughing at a joke, or leaning against him to whisper in his ear. Toki turned away in disgust, and ran his fingers over his guitar- the guitar with no pretentious name, and no exquisite case from an Turkish monarch. But it had served him well, and he was prepared.

There was a hush as the two men approached one another. It could have been a blood duel, with rapiers and wounds, for the sense of danger that permeated the crowd. They had all heard what Skwisgaar had said to Marie Antoinette.

_I would not discount bloodshed. I don't think you have heard me play._

Now they all had, and they knew his power. But that had been in a small salon, with the intention of entertainment. Now it was a matter of honor, a duel. Who knew what he could be capable of in this arena?

Toki and Skwisgaar faced each other, and like the high-blooded mare Skjelve, they trembled with anticipation. For the first time, Toki realized that they were dressed with ludicrous similarity, with high curled hair and blue suits- his dark, Skwisgaar's light. He studied the features of the man before him, and it was as though he were viewing him for the first time. Toki could barely believe he had come to know him at all, this sharp, lithe, languid figure who walked the earth with perpetual irreverence. He was a worthy adversary, if Toki had been looking for one. He had to dig inside himself, and seek out the blood of his ancestors, the long hollow winters of his home, the shadowed darkness in his parents eyes- it took harsh memories to siphon from himself his animal instincts. The hair on the back of his neck rose, and took several steps back, as directed by Cornichon.

"Now we're gonna flip a coin- Count Wartooth is heads, Baron Skwigelf tails."

"I ams always heads," said Skwigelf with a haughty throw of his head.

"All right, does that work for you, Count Wartooth?" asked Cornichon.

"No! I ams heads." He clenched his teeth and looked directly at his adversary, who smirked and tuned his guitar.

"Well, no need to be Monsieur Sensitives," said Skwigelf. "Let our proud, nobles young Count haves his way."

Toki's face turned red, and he looked up at Skwisgaar with a snarl.

"Okaaay," said Cornichon. "Then Count Wartooth is heads, as I said."

He flipped the coin. Tails.

"Well, I suppose I goes first," said Skwisgaar, with easy confidence, letting his finger sweep up and down a single string. Now the crowd was huddled around them, a mass of towering hair, twitching fans, and diamond necklaces that glittered in the sun. It was a scene of opulence that never failed to dazzle Toki, and yet he could make out the ills of humanity among the courtiers- the missing teeth, the greed, the hunger for novelty that countered all reason. It was then he distanced himself from the mass of people and mentally forced himself within, away from France, away from Versailles, to the brutal turmoil in his gut that would guide him through the duel.

Cornichon counted down and with a gesture of his hand, he signaled the beginning. Skwisgaar smiled and leaning back, played a few simple notes, a child's arpeggio. Everyone glanced at one another- they had expected something more from him. There were whispers in the crowd. Had he gone simple?

It was then that the reckless fingers pounced on the strings, moving with breakneck speed up and down the frets, while the other hand tapped out a rapid and foreign melody, a fugue inspired by the greats of the era, with elements of a distant but approaching future.

Toki nearly fell in dismay, and he stumbled over himself as he struggled to catch up. He answered the call, digging within that primal self and breaking free of all constructs and time so that his hands could mimic the Swedish master and surpass him. The song slipped into a melancholic wail while retaining its epic speed.

Skwisgaar grinned, and holding himself upright, slipped easily into Toki's song, enhancing it with a higher tone like a banshee's cry, or the rapid unrelenting winds of the Nordic winter. It had become a pure element, shared between them, a question of heritage, of past and future. Toki's heart nearly gave way in his chest and he forced himself deeper into his psyche, into the deep hole where his parents had hidden him for days on end. He took over, and his song sunk lower and lower, as though he were descending down the rungs of a ceaseless ladder into that hole. It was then he thought of deliverance- of sprouting the wings of a hawk, of rising to the clouds and giving way, and the music burst forth, ecstatic and free, made only brighter by the crushing desolation before it.

Skwisgaar looked on him with utter surprise, and actual fear, but he quickly played to the tune, and it seemed to Toki he was rising through space and time as he picked out a rapid arpeggio that lifted the song to new heights. It moved in a steady, galloping pace, like a warhorse forcing its way through an enemy horde, a battle hymn of an early warrior.

It was violent, too violent, and Toki could feel a mounting pressure within his chest and throat. He had never heard guitar like this, and it was as though it was twisting around him, enchanting but ensnaring him. He struggled to breath but grew more frantic from fighting. Like a darting snake, he came back with new ferocity, a boiling in his blood he hadn't known he was capable of, and struck.

It was Skwisgaar now who was stunned, who, clearly having underestimated his rival, had to rally up new forces to combat him. He seemed to be digging deep within an untapped well, and as though releasing a valve, he burst forth is a geyser of sound, a potent, rising wail, with notes circling around each other in an unceasing spiral.

They played together, with moves like dance steps, and though there were no wounds, it was as though they had been drained of their lifeblood. But in its place a fierce electricity in potent shades of turquoise and violet burst through them, connecting them, and yet marking them as perpetual foes. Their execution was flawless, yet they were not moved by reason, but pure energy. They had given themselves away, and were in thrall to their own instruments. Choice had ceased to enter into it.

They moved higher and higher, and the cloud between them formed into a twisting helix. It didn't seem as though the music could go on but they forced it, beyond the realm of human understanding, they pushed it, to where it could not possible occur, and on one side it was all destroyed…

And Toki fell. Down the spiral, through the various hemispheres, he hid the earth like a comet, with a force that could only come from nearing the realm of the stars. He fell to his knees and felt a powerful ringing through his body- and Skwisgaar played on, pushing through the final notes that completed Toki's defeat.

There was a cry among the crowd, and at first they didn't notice what happened, only that they had been released from their trance. They too had plummeted with Count Wartooth, rescued only by the saving grace of Baron Skwigelf's triumphant lone finale. They cried out, and scurried about each other like ants, dying to share their experience, and yet not having the words or strength to speak.

Skwigelf stood firm and taller than ever, seeming at this moment to supersede all mere mortals. And there was Toki, on his knees with his guitar hanging loosely from his chest, and his hands now touching the earth. Skwisgaar, not sure what he was doing, took two steps forward. He reached out his hand and touched the Count's shoulder.

Toki stared at Skwisgaar, and his face was pale and contorted with agony. He rubbed his forehead, streaking it with dirt. To have risen so high, such a fall must crush him.

"Toki..." said Skwisgaar. He did not know why, but he was saying his name, his first name...

Toki leapt to his feet. In the chaos of the crowd, he marched towards Skjelve. He grabbed her reigns, and lapt onto her back. The mare sensed her master's tension and rose up on two legs with a whinny, but Toki held fast to the bridle. He looked behind him at the courtiers, who were finally coming to their own, and turning towards him in surprise. He saw Skwisgaar's figure, upright and tall, reaching out an arm toward him. Let him have his victory. Plunging through the gate, he made for the north road, away from the courtiers who had witnessed his humiliation, away from the great master Skwigelf who had engineered his ruin, to his country house in the depths of the woods.


	9. Chapter 9

_Note- Sangeaux, Toki's country house, would be pronounced 'Sahng-O" and would mean something close to 'Blood Waters' in terrible, terrible French. I wanted something close to Blood Ocean that would sound like an actual place. Toolazytologin, I can hardly believe your username because you aren't too lazy to leave the best, loveliest reviews ever. You should sign up so I can PM you!_

* * *

The woods outside the small estate of Sangeaux were thick and dark, filled with fungi and some said strange beings- lutins, goblin like creatures were said to roam the woods of Normandy and occupy the houses of the humble people, helping out or causing mischief depending on their inclination. One of these, the Nain Rouge, or red dwarf, with his red eyes and rotting teeth, had a more malicious turn. He would attack without warning, and leave a stream of blood in his wake.

It gave Toki a strange kind of comfort to think of these beings, even the sinister ones, as he traversed the path strewn with rotting logs and vague shadows. It took him to the better part of his homeland, to his bond with his nurse Alva and Hjalmar, and of course Fjosnisse, the barn elf. It was as though he was traveling through an early world beyond reason, where he would not be judged by etiquette or the details of his costume. He wondered if the sinister or mischievous elements of his being were taking fruit after his humiliation, much like the thick fluted mushrooms that sprung from fallen trees around him.

But exhaustion finally won over, and he was forced to make his way down the damp path towards the house. He realized as he stepped out of the woods that it had been raining heavily during his walk; he had only felt a few drops under the heavy curtain of the branches overhead.

He saw a small, round figure part the curtains as pulled his coat over his head and broke into a run. Toki's housekeeper at Sangeaux was mute. Marinette was a remnant of his father's rule. His parents had never believed in speaking except in cases of the utmost necessity, and his father, having no need for a chattering servant, purposely chose one without the ability to speak. After his father's death, the woman had frightened him during his brief visits to the estate, and he had considered firing her. She reminded him of his parents, and he assumed that under her stare and her unsmiling mouth she was judging him.

But it occurred to him that Marinette had was as frightened of him as he was of her, and his unwillingness to engage her had only pushed her deeper into herself. With some kindness, some teasing and cajoling, her found her to be a good-hearted and loving woman, not too different from his dear Alva at home. It had been his father who had trained her not to smile, and when she realized that happiness was permitted, she engaged in it wholeheartedly. Marinette was the only living being that knew of his toy soldier, and she always polished him and cleaned his clothes when Toki brought him home. She had even made Rockso a new suit, courtier's clothes that matched Toki's own. Toki didn't want a host of people around him in his retreat so he only kept on Marinette and her son, a fourteen year old named Jean who served as a groom.

Toki stayed out as long as he dared. So long as he was in motion, he seemed to be able to control of his thoughts and direct them, but as soon as he would relax, they would overtake him again.

.He slumped into an armchair, and Marinette hurried toward him with a steaming cup of coffee, prepared in the Norwegian style, and a thick slice of _kransekake_, wreath cake. It was typically only served on special occasions, but she hoped it would cheer him up.

When Toki took over Sangeaux, Marinette thanked God she had someone to really cook for, as the old Count had preferred a depressing oat gruel. But Toki was different. With his childish greed, he had a tendency to eat an entire cake in one sitting. Marinette had no speech to admonish him, but she would put her hands on her hips and laugh while he was eating, and make a clucking sound that distinctly meant 'I told you so' when he lay in bed afterwards, groaning with his hands on his distended stomach.

But this time there was no greed- and no laughter. He held the coffee in his hands, but didn't drink, and didn't even touch the beautiful cake, and Marinette left the room with a sigh.

Now, left alone, Toki gave way to his thoughts. The room around him was brighter and cheerier- even the grey tones of the paint couldn't dull the inherent charm of the building, and Toki had taken the time to make alterations. Here was a place he could truly retreat, almost a home.

He had committed no crime, but he felt a deep, overwhelming sense of shame. He had fallen to his knees before Skwigelf, before the entire court. He had had the audacity to challenge the greatest guitarist alive, and had paid the penalty. Toki knew how the courtiers viewed him- a provincial, an outsider, and his only saving grace had been his skill at the guitar. And now he had proven that he was a pretender, a swindler almost. He knew the court, and that they would not quickly forgive being hoodwinked. If only he could explain himself to Marie, to Yolande…but no, their disappointment would be worse than anything. He could not return to court.

He sincerely regretted that he had not insisted on a proper duel- with swords and blood. He was sure now, sure that could have cut Skwigelf to shreds…

His thoughts were interrupted by a pounding on the door. He was not supposed to answer it, and he called out for Marinette. But she was caught up in the kitchen, probably supervising a meal he wouldn't eat, and the knocking continued. It jarred him, and in spite of his fatigue, he pulled himself out of the chair, released the bolts, and opened it.

It was Skwigelf.

The Swede was soaked through. The rain had ruined his curls so his hair fell in long golden waves down his shoulders. He seemed stronger, more masculine, like the hunters in Lillehammer who scoured the woods for prey. He had the same ferocity in his eyes as well, and in spite of his shock, Toki stepped back in alarm.

He wanted to shut the door on him, he wanted to tell him to go back where he came from, but Skwigelf was shivering. Toki peered behind him- a brown Arabian stallion stood by the gate, its nostrils expanding and contracting from exertion.

He was cautious and didn't trust his words. "Where ams your manservant?" he asked.

Skwigelf was silent, and wrapped his damp arms around his body.

"You comes alone?" asked Toki with shock. He couldn't slam the door on him now. "Well, comes in," he said reluctantly, and the Swede stepped in the foyer, dripping on the black and white checkered tiles.

Marinette now appeared, and looked on in surprise at the tall, soaked figure at the doorway. Her eyes flickered, and Toki shook his head in exasperation. Even with his damp skin and sopping hair, Skwisgaar had the power to entice. But he wouldn't be here long enough to seduce _her_- Toki wanted to keep at least a few his friends for himself.

"Marinette, fetch a blankets. And sends a grooms out for that horse." Marinette curtsied briskly. There was a small smile on her face, and it occurred to Toki she was enjoying herself.

Skwigelf had still not said a word. His face was pale- alarmingly pale, and Toki's heart contracted. He hated this man, but it was hard to watch him suffer.

"Come," he said, "Off with the jackets." Skwisgaar did not move, and Toki grimaced. "Used to having a servants do everythings for you," he grumbled, and pulled the long riding coat off the shuddering form and flung it to the ground. He then proceeded to pull off the embroidered vest. The Swede's damp silk shirt clung to his body, outlining his chest, his ribs, and curves of his stomach.

"Marinette!" Called Toki frantically. But Toki didn't have to go farther. Skwigelf's eyes were still glazed over, but he loosened the cravat himself, and then slowly unbuttoned the shirt and peeled it off his back. Toki noticed the strength of his arms twisting down to the sinews of the wrist, powerful from playing, and he frowned. He lifted his eyes warily. The Swede was standing immobile, still shivering. His skin was chilled over, pure white, and his firm chest rose and fell in shuddering breaths.

Toki turned away, and Marinette appeared. But her eyes went wide with concern as she scanned Skwigelf's body and she dropped the blanket she was holding. She snatched Skwigelf's wrist, and hurried him down the hall to spare bedroom.

Toki followed her. "Is he in dangers?" asked Toki, and Marinette nodded frantically. Toki stood helpless as Marinette pulled off his shoes, his stockings, his breeches. Toki tried to avert his eyes, but it was too late. He caught a glimpse of the long, slender form before Marinette threw a dressing gown on him and stuffed him under the bedclothes.

Marinette took Toki's shoulders and held them in place, motioning towards the bed. He was to stay there, and watch. She shut the door behind her and he stared down at Skwigelf. His eyes were glazed over, and his damp hair clung to his pale cheeks. It would only increase the risk. Toki reluctantly brushed the strands from his face, and lifting Skwigelf's head, pulled the hair away from his head so it fell like a halo over the pillows. Toki cursed himself for his compassion. He rubbed Skwigelf's cheeks, and a small bloom of color came over them. Swigelf's gaze fell on him, and his pupils flickered with a hint of recognition.

"It ams so cold," he said like a child, and his lids went heavy.

"It ams summertimes, and only a stupid rainstorms, and you should not bes here," grumbled Toki.

"My hands…they ams freezing," said Skwigelf. Toki would have thought he was taunting him, but the man's head tossed on the pillow. Mercy was a brutal thing. Reaching under the cover, he pulled out Skwigelf's hand, with the long fingers that had humiliated him, and rubbed it between his palms. Skwigelf let out a sigh, and a rosy flush appeared over his forehead. Perhaps it was helping him.

Toki reached across the bed for the other hand, his torso brushing the Swede's, and he felt a hand lazily grazing his back. He rubbed the other hand, before pushing the covers up to Skwigelf's chin.

Skwigelf didn't look so haughty, or so cruel now. His lids had fallen, and he appeared to be asleep. His full lips were slightly parted and he was breathing gently through them. And with his hair in disarray, he seemed less cold and formal. Toki felt a strange urge to touch it, but pulled away. Why was this man even here?

Marinette hurried into the room with a warming pan. Skwisgaar groaned and twisted his body as she pushed it under the bedclothes. She touched his right cheek, then his left, before running his hand over his forehead. She sighed deeply, and smiled.

"What-what ams it? Will he be okays?" asked Toki. She nodded, and pushing the covers over Skwigelf's shoulders, led Toki out of the room.

Toki tossed in bed that night. It seemed so strange, that the last man he wanted to see was sleeping in his house. He was sick with curiosity- why was he here? Why did he come alone on the dangerous north road, with no servant to accompany him? It did not occur to Toki that he had made the same trip the week before.

One thing was certain- he wouldn't have taken such pains to mock him. Toki was alarmed at the relief he had felt that afternoon, when he had known that Skwigelf would be all right. His eyes opened as a thought occurred to him- sometimes the chill took a while to take effect, and the fever would appear later.

Toki slipped down the hall to the guest bedroom, and carefully opened the door. He slipped up beside the sleeping figure, and placed his hand on the forehead. It was cool. He sighed deeply, before a hand took his.

"It ams you," whispered Skwigelf.

Toki said nothing. He released the hand and placed it gently on the Skwigelf's chest. He returned to his bed, quietly, but with a full heart.


	10. Chapter 10

The next morning Toki found Skwigelf sitting at the dining room table, a steaming plate of eggs and pastries before him. He was dressed in Toki's clothes- the old ones in homespun material, true, but still his. They fit him poorly- with his long limbs, the cuffs of his jacket crept halfway up his forearms and the woolen vest barely covered his stomach. He glanced up at Toki, and actually had the grace to show embarrassment.

"Your housekeeper- she gaves these clothings to me," he said, flushing.

Toki battled a sense of irritation- this was his house, those were his clothes- even the food on the table was his. He was tempted to say something sharp. But Skwigelf was now a guest in his house, and looking down at him, Toki felt the fire within him dull to a certain warmth- the morning light was shone through the windows, illuminating the gilded edges of the china and Skwigelf's yellow hair. His long hands cupped a mug of steaming coffee. He looked healthy, and very much alive, as though the chill of the night before had been a mere dream. If only Skwigelf had been a friend of his, he felt he would have thrown his arms around him in relief. But he wasn't, and Toki remained stiff.

"They probably ams not what are you ams used to."

"Well," said Skwigelf, frowning and stretching out his arm so that the cuff of his jacket nearly reached his elbow. "Not reallys."

"You likely expects something fancys. Something betters from a wealthy counts?"

Skwigelf ran his hands down the front of his rough woolen coat with a certain pride.

"I likes it," he said, lifting his nose. "Perhaps I buys one just likes it."

Toki smiled in spite of himself at the Swede's stubbornness, and Skwigelf smiled back with a warmth that Toki had never seen. It did suit him- the coarse material brought out the sharper, darker, more masculine elements of his features. But Skwigelf, lucky fool that he was, would have made a sack cloth look stylish.

"Here, haves some food," said Skwigelf, patting the seat next to him.

Toki hesitated. He _was_ hungry. "Where ams Marinette?"

"I sends her to towns for some white breads. I hates this coarse browns stuff," said Skwigelf, taking a big bite of the same hated brown bread.

"You can'ts sends my servant on errands!" cried Toki, his eyebrows pulling together.

Skwigelf shrugged. "I did. And she seems happy enough to dos it. But if you wants to eat, you has to share with me." He looked up towards Toki with a half smile.

Toki pulled cautiously towards him and Skwigelf placed the plate halfway between them. Toki raised his fork. He realized he had had nothing since the midday meal the day before, and he had barely picked at that. He shoveled the eggs into his mouth, and then grabbed a fistful of bread.

"Tsk, tsk, they does not teach the tables manners in Norway, does they?" Skwigelf wagged his finger and laughed. Toki's face went red and he swallowed, before taking a cautious bite of bread.

Toki ate his fill, fully aware that Skwigelf was watching him the entire time, and then rose from the table. He was burning with curiosity to know why Skwigelf had come, but he also felt ill at ease with this man in his house, this man who had destroyed him. It would be an unheard of breach of etiquette to kick him out. Perhaps a good hint would do the trick.

"I hope you enjoys your breakfast," he said. "I think I will takes my walk."

Skwigelf leaned back in his chair and smiled. "A walks- that sounds nice. I wants to see the forest."

Toki's face stiffened. "I usually goes alone."

"Poor Count." Skwigelf frowned. "That must be so dulls for you. So we goes now?" He stood up, stretching out his back so that the short vest went high over his ribs.

"You will haves to walk in the mud," said Toki, looking him up and down.

"Pffft! I don't cares!" Skwigelf shook out his head, and two loose pieces of hair fell over his cheeks. "Let's go!"

So Toki took his usual path over the broad sloping hill to the periphery of the forest, looking over his shoulder from time to time to see if Skwigelf was really following him. He stopped when they reached the edge of the woods.

"It ams dark in here," he warned, pulling aside a heavy branch.

Skwigelf's pupils contracted as he peered into the forest. His eyes took on a deeper, heavier blue and various green shadows appeared over his face.

They walked for several minutes in silence. There was something about the woods that heightened the senses, and Toki was keenly aware of Skwigelf's footsteps behind him and the gentle pattern of his breath.

They made their way into a clearing where streaks of sunlight burst through the heavy canopy of the trees. The forest was teeming with color and light after the heavy rain. The moss fronds of the ferns underfoot were a brilliant green, and wild blossoms in violet and orange sprouted from the heavy logs. Toki didn't expect Skwigelf to like it- he was too cultivated, spoiled almost, by his love for finery. But to his surprise, Skwigelf leaned down and plucked a flower.

"It reminds me of homes," he said, placing the flower in his buttonhole. "In Sweden, whether winters and summetimes, I always runs to the forests to play."

"Mes too!" cried Toki, letting his pale eyes grow wide. "I woulds pretends I was a giant trolls and stomp on everything." He pushed his toe into a soggy branch and crunched it underfoot.

Skwisgaar laughed. "Such a child! I means play the guitar. You do nots practice all that much, does you?"

Toki bared his teeth.

"It ams okay, Count Wartooth. I can tells you have potential. You does not apply yourself, but you ams good." He looked Toki in the eye, and his face was serious, almost stern. "You ams very good."

Toki flushed, but whether from pleasure or discomfort, he couldn't say, and marched onwards.

"Comes on," he said, and Skwisgaar followed, craning his head about. They came to a small brook and Toki hopped quickly over a series of stones. He turned towards Skwigelf, challenging him. He had a wicked desire to see him fall in, but Skwigelf disappointed him by grabbing an overhead branch and swinging to the other side. "I likes it here," he said. " In all these courts there ams pretty gardens, but nothing truly darks or wilds."

Toki started. He had often felt the same way.

"You know why they calls it Normandy?" he asked Skwigelf.

Skwigelf shrugged.

"Because the Normans cames here, the Norsemen, Scandinavians likes us."

Skwigelf's eyebrows rose. "You lies!"

"It ams true. And they brings their stories too- all the elves and creatures from our country."

"Elves? Pffft."

"Yes elves and creatures like the red dwarf with red skins and bright red eyes and sharp teeths that drinks your blood!" Toki held up his fingers like claws.

"Red dwarves and unicorns and baby's tales," said Skwigelf, waving his hand dismissively. Toki glowered. Then Skwigelf's jaw clenched and he darted behind Toki.

"_What. Ams. That_?" breathed Skwigelf. He was shuddering.

"Perhaps it ams unicorn," said Toki, tossing his head.

Then he turned and his skin crawled.

The figure was huddled behind a rock, its dull red flesh nearly lost in the shadows. It wore a broad red hat and two shining red eyes flashed in the darkness.

Skwigelf's hands were on his shoulders and Toki could feel them trembling.

The creature popped from behind a rock, and rose, doubling in size. Skwigelf uttered a small cry, and it took Toki several moments to register that it was no dwarf, but a man, fully dressed in red from his red-brown boots to his scarlet tri-corner hat

"Sees?" said Skwigelf, still shaking. "Just a baby's tale."

"And hads you crying like a babys a minutes ago," Toki retorted.

Then the man lifted up his arms revealing two pistols. "Stand and deliver!" he called, the traditional cry of the highwayman.

Skwigelf turned to Toki. "Goes home. _Now_."

Toki was prepared to speak, to say ' I won't go withouts you," but Skwigelf's next words stopped him dead in his tracks.

"You ams just a kids. I takes care of this."

And Toki cried out, more like a small child than he would have wished "No! I stays here with you!"

There was a twinkle in Skwigelf's eye. "Suits yourself."

Skwigelf turned to the highwayman, and looked him up and down. Toki recognized that glance, from back in the salon, when he had first met Skwigelf, and almost pitied the man.

"Why the hells ams you wearing reds?" asked Skwigelf. "You ams in a green forest. It makes no sense."

"I-" the man started, and his eyes wandered to and fro. There seemed to be glass over his eyes. "Your money or your life," he said in monotone. His accent was foreign.

Skwigelf burst into laughter. "This jackets ams too small for me anyway. But takes it." He struggled it out of the jacket and threw it at the highwayman's feet. "And shouldn't a highwayman be on the highways? This ams a good place if you wants to steals squirrels."

The highwayman stepped closer, his pistol nearly touching Skwigelf's chest. "Don't toy with me! I'll shoot!"

Toki sighed. "The kid haves got a pocket watch. Hands it over, Wartooth."

Toki flushed red. The kid! It then occurred to him it wouldn't be a good idea to have the thief know he was a count. But he wasn't giving up his pocket watch- it had been a gift from Marie.

"No," he said, holding the watch close in his fist.

"Don't bes stupids," said Skwigelf, rolling his eyes. Strangely, he was much less afraid of the highwayman than he had been of the potential dwarf. "Maybe he ams a lames excuse for a highwayman but still he gots the guns." He tapped the pistol, and stared into the man's face.

"Waits," he said. "I knows you!"

"No, ah, you don't." the man retorted, stepping back.

"I does!" With a daring motion, one that could have cost him his life, Skwigelf ripped the mask off the highwayman.

"I knews it!" Shouted Skwigelf, his face bright with triumph. "I would knows that cranky mouths anywheres!"

The man had been wearing spectacles under his mask, and he knelt down to pick them up. _So those had been the flashing red eyes_, though Toki.

"Who ams he?" he whispered to Skwigelf."

Skwigelf grinned. "Just an old friends of mine from England- apparently downs on his lucks too."

He turned to the highwayman, who was brushing off his coat. "Tsk tsk," he said, wagging his finger. "For shames, Ofdensen. You, turnings to stealing?"

Ofdensen breathed on his spectacles and rubbed them against his shirt. He had a strong jaw, small grey green eyes, and brown hair tied back with a simple black band. His hard face betrayed little emotion, but he was clearly flustered.

"It, ah, hasn't been easy back home." Said Ofdensen.

Skwigelf folded his arms. "Na, I wouldn't think it would bes."

"Can someone tells me what is happening?" yelled Toki.

"Ofdensen ams my manager back when I has a groups in England. But let's just says…he has no talent fors the jobs."

Ofdensen frowned. "If I recall, you, ah, refused to play outside of a royal court."

"Pfft," said Skwigelf tossing his head. "Getting into a court ams not so hard!"

"Actually, Skwisgaar, it was quite difficult considering nobody had heard of you."

"It's Baron Skwigelf!" Skwigelf nearly shouted. "But it turns out ok," he said, patting Ofdensen's shoulder. "I meets Lady Harcourt and we haves the sex, and then poof! I play for King George." He grimaced. "Not that he appreciate goods guitar. But the rest of the courts goes wild." He leaned back against a tree, seeming to relish the memory.

"And I could have been very helpful to you then. From what I hear you're in debt. You, ah, haven't been managing your money wisely."

Skwigelf burst into deep laughter, and even wiped a tear from his eye. "And this froms the mans that steals rabbits in the woods."

Ofdensen went red. "I'm no highwayman. It's just been very difficult to _meet you_ after your rise to fame. If I remember you, ah, dropped me entirely after you made it to court."

"You misses me? Comes all this ways to sees me. How touching."

The manager frowned. "I think I could be _of use_ to you."

"Ha! But we dids have good times together," said Skwisgaar. " Joins us for a drink?" He put his arm around Toki, who wriggled out of it.

"Baron Skwigelf," he whispered, almost hissing. "He holds a gun to us. You thinks I wants him in my house?"

"Pffts," said Skwigelf,"Don't bes such a branches in the mud. He ams great fun! This way, Ofdensen!" He cleared the way for the manager, and they made their way back to the house, with Toki fuming behind them.

* * *

They had broken their way into Toki's wine cellar and were on their third bottle. Marinette flitted around them, filling their glasses clearly enjoying the company. Toki started by taking short sips, and finally by downed his glass. He thought with longing about his sweet liquor, stashed away in the cupboard. But he didn't want to show weakness in front of these two, idiots though they were.

"Remember when you saves me from the policemans?" laughed Skwisgaar. "And then- then you spend the night in jails?"

"Ahem, I remember that well Skwisgaar," said Ofdensen, swirling his glass. "I also remember that I caught pneumonia after that."

Skwisgaar smiled at Toki with such infectious mirth, that Toki couldn't help smiling back. So it seemed the poor highwayman was as hapless as he was. Not that he trusted him.

"I'll have you knows," said Toki, turning his glass. "That I haves all my valuables locked aways in a safe in Paris."

"And I'll have you know, " Ofdensen gritted his teeth. "That I'm a professional manager, not a thief."

"Hmmm." Toki took a gulp of wine and held out his glass towards Skwisgaar. "Well if you can manages this one, counts me forever gratefuls."

Skwigelf pursed his lips together and smiled. He touched Toki's shoulder, just a gentle graze with his fingertips. "You knows I'm not so bad." Toki looked at Skwisgaar, at his deep blue eyes with their eternal irony, and the wine sputtered from his lips. He broke out into laughter, and the other two joined him.

Marinette clucked as she wiped the wine off the table, and dabbed at Skwigelf's shirt.

"It's a good things this is _your _shirt," laughed Skwigelf. "Or I'd put Ofdensen's pistols to good use."

Ofdensen cleared his throat. "It would be no use."

"And why ams that?" asked Skwigelf.

The manager hung his head. "They're not loaded."

Skwisgaar and Toki burst into loud laughter and Ofdensen buried his face in his hands.

"Well," said Skwisgaar, patting Ofdensen on the shoulder. "You really ams a man with no luck. Perhaps you can comes with me on my tours and reads all the boring contracts and letters-" Skwisgaar groaned. "And that means the loves letters too. If I get ones more I swears I'll find a real highwaymans with a loaded guns to shoots my heads off."

Toki rolled his eyes, but Ofdensen, in his stiff way, looked very, very pleased. "I don't, ah, think you'll regret this," he said, taking Skwigelf's hand. "Now I think I'll be on my way- I have a room at the inn."

"No, you could not possiblys!" cried Skwigelf. "You must stays with us."

Ofdensen opened his mouth, but caught Toki's warning glance, and closed it. "No, my inn is very very…comfortable," he said, backing up.

"Very wells! Come visits me at Versailles."

"I certainly will." And soon Ofdensen was blessedly out the door, leaving Skwigelf and Toki at the table.


	11. Chapter 11

Toki lifted the wine to his lips once again. He and Skwigelf had retreated to the parlor, and Marinette had laid out cakes for them. He and Skwigelf were facing one another on two thick sofas, but had not spoken a word since Ofdensen had left. The window was open, and a thick, humid breeze swept through the room. It was near dusk, the golden hour, when the birds outside began to chatter and the fields took on a rich glow. Skwigelf's cheeks were red with wine, and he pulled back his chair, his eyelids drooping.

"You needs a nap?" asked Toki.

"Nos," said Skwigelf, running a hand slowly over his hair. "I like things how they ams. I feels good."

Toki thought for a moment and nodded. "Me too." The air was richly scented and the curtain over the window rose and fell gently, reflecting the calm of his mood.

"That Ofdensen, he ams not so bad, ams he?" asked Skwigelf.

Toki paused. He was certainly a strange one, with unorthodox ways of getting in touch with his friends, but he almost liked him. "He ams okay- when he stays out of my house."

Skwigelf chuckled. "You puts on this sweets look, but you really ams a strict one. This ams right, this ams wrong, and nothings inbetween."

"That ams not true," Toki protested. "He- he puts a gun to my face!"

Skiwgelf rubbed his chin. "Well, that ams wrong, I suppose. But you ams brave, little count. You didn't runs away!"

Toki frowned. "What makes you thinks I would? And I ams not little!"

Skwigelf stretched out his leg. His breeches went well above the knee, almost to the mid thigh. "Your clothes begs to differ."

"Yours should be dry nows," snapped Toki. "And you ams welcome to put them back on."

Skwigelf's eyebrows rose. "And spoils this fun? No, I thinks not. I likes roughing it- living like a bears."

Toki's expression soured, and Skwigelf smiled gently. "It ams only a joke, but really, I likes it here." He craned his head around the room. "I have beens in so many courts, palace after palace, each bigger and richer than the next. But it ams simple here, and calms. It's like…" Skwigelf paused, and quickly glanced at Toki. "It ams like home."

Toki looked around him and reflected. But no, something wasn't right.

"But it does not feels that way to you, hmm? You wants to be with your friends, in the splendors, in Versailles…"

"I am never going back there!" Toki shouted, and then, self-conscious, he slumped back in his chair.

"Oh," said Skwigelf. He stood up and walked to the window. His figure was dark against the golden rays that shone like a halo around him. "That ams it."

Toki tilted his head in bewilderment. Skwigelf turned, his face half in shadow and half glowing. "You ams a bigger fool than I thinks."

Toki could not understand why this man was in his house, why he was tormenting him. "Why did you comes here, if onlys to mock me?" cried Toki.

"Because you leaves our duel a broken man- a foolish boy, yes, but also a mans. I thought it was another silly games for you, a parlor tricks to plays with your fancy friends. I wanted to crush you, to shows you that you ams just another fat heads noble."

Toki sunk deeper into the sofa, and deeper into himself.

"But I did not expects you to plays as you did," said Skwigelf. He sat down on the very edge of the couch, facing Toki again. "My gods, I never heards a man plays like that. So much powers, such turmoil, such brutality." He shut his eyes and tapping his knees, he hummed out a tune. Toki realized it was the song he had played, the notes that had trailed out of his ecstatic fingers as he rose through the cloud, before…before….

"But I falls," said Toki bitterly. "And I fails."

"Ja," said Skwigelf, a hard edge to his voice. "You fails. But you pushes me higher than I have ever gone, taken my fingers to a distant realms, raw as the flesh. I thinks I am travelings time, and space, and my core ams rotted out and replaced by fire. No, I have never plays so well."

Toki sneered. "How very nice for you."

"And yous? You goes nowhere? What happens to you when you played?"

Toki did not speak. He had only fixated on the fall, not how high he had risen, not the ecstasy of playing and inhabiting a higher plane, not the shiver of electricity and the transforming power of song. It had not occurred to him, but he had never played so well either.

"It- it does not matter. I ams a fool, and I don't play no more."

"No!" Skwigelf shouted at him. "You willplays again."

"Oh certainlys, Baron Skwigelf," Toki shouted back.

"Looks at you! You plays in the court with dogs and little girls and eats cakes and gossips. And you knows why I beats you, and will always crushes you under my fist?"

"I am sures you will tell me," said Toki, sweeping out his hand in a mocking gesture.

"Because I always haves that guitars under my fingers, waking, sleeping, traveling, I carries it with me and toys with the strings and explores it. I am greats because I don't leaves it in the closet to go play with kittens."

"Oh?" asked Toki. "And where ams it now? Where ams the great Thunderhorse, my Lord?"

Skwigelf dropped his head.

"Wells?" asked Toki.

"I has left her at Versailles," he said, as though he had betrayed his best friend. "The hurry was too great- I had to mounts my horse and be off."

"Yes, a great hurries, to comes to my house and wears my clothes and drinks all my wine."

Skwigelf hesitated, his features growing sharper, more alert. He massaged his wrist.

"It ams not that. It ams what they says. What they says at Versailles."

Toki's heart beat rapidly. He was never returning there, not ever. But what gossip was spreading?

He spoke quietly. "What does they say?"

Skwigelf's lips pursed together. "They tells me- they tells me you ams dying." He swallowed. "Or that you hads a shock, and would never recover. Or that you- you would takes your lifes for the shame. I did nots believe. They lies in your palace- I know that. Every good story travels arounds and arounds like a windmill. But you- but I-"

He buried his face in his hands. When he lifted them his teeth were gritted. "And I -couldn't stands it anymore. I had to know…"

Toki studied him with awe. All those rumors and no one had come for him- but Skwigelf had. His enemy, his rival…

"And you- I comes here half dead, and you lives on. I could not speak."

"You ams frozens," said Toki.

"Ja," admitted Skwigelf. "But they ams wrong about you, and I feels such a strange, sharp happiness, before everything turns black."

It was as though a cloud had formed in Tokis mind, moving and dark and impenetrable. Looking into Skwigelf'ss face, with its pursed lips and tilted brows, he felt a familiar hate, a hate of being judged, a hate of being thrown aside and laughed at. But what had he just told him? What could this mean?

Before he could find the words to speak, Skwisgelf had approached him, nimble as a cat. He had a way of drawing near that always caused Toki to hold his breath. He uttered a small cry as Skwisgelf took his shoulders in his long hands, and pressed a burning mouth against his. The kiss was short, but exhilaratingly soft . Skwisgelf pulled back and stared at him, parsing his response. Toki opened his mouth to speak- what he would have said there was no telling- but was silenced by another kiss, a deeper one that stole the balance out from under him. He felt the lithe movement Skwigelf's tongue, the heat of his breath through his nostrils, the fingers that crawled through his hair, up the nape of his neck to his scalp, and his body trembled.

Toki hesitated, his pale eyes wide. A childhood of admonitions, his own distaste for all Skwisgelf was- his arrogance, that haughty smirk, the way he had crushed him- they all formed in a miasma of doubt around him.

His body shook. His mind wavered.

_And he kissed back._

He pushed against Skwigelf, and shutting his eyes, he explored the contours of his mouth: the full lips so soft that they yielded under the slightest pressure, the infernal heat of the tongue, even the teeth, feral and sharp. He opened his mouth and groaned as Skwisgelf suckled on his lower lip. He could feel Skwigaar's lashes against his cheek, his fingers running over his sides as though exploring the frets of his guitar, his knee rubbing up against his thigh.

"My Gods, Toki," he said, taking Toki's face in his hands. He kissed his forehead. "My Gods."

"Skwigelf," Toki said softly.

"That's Baron Skwigelf,"the Swede whispered, a wry smile on his lips. "Or just Skwisgaar, if you want."

Skwisgaar pushed Toki downward so his body was spread over the sofa. He snaked himself over him. Toki gasped from weight, the luxurious warmth of his body. As Skwisgaar leaned down to kiss him, a strange, superstitious thought occurred to him,

_A face so beautiful must be cursed_.

A deep misgiving overcame him, though his body was responding, and fiercely. There was a throbbing against his thigh. Skwigaar's eyebrows tilted, and his lips formed into a half-smile. Toki pushed back against the coach, as Skwisgaar undid the buttons of his breeches and slowly slipped his hand over him, cradling him in his palm.

A deep wave of pleasure and an intense aversion pulsed through him simultaneously, so that it was nearly impossible to move. But he forced himself, rising upwards and quickly buttoning himself up.

"Toki," said Skwisgaar, looking up in alarm.

Toki was silent.

"Speak to me," pleaded Skwisgaar, his eyebrows kneading together.

Toki marched to the end of the room before turning around in a fury. "Gods, I really ams an idiot!" Toki said, running his hands over his head. "You will fucks anyone, won't you?"

"Toki, it's not like that," protested Skwisgaar. His hair was in disarray and his cheeks were flushed.

"Don't calls me that. You don't know me- you comes here, destroy mes, and now you tries to fucks with my head!" His teeth clenched.

Skwisgaar looked up at him, completely baffled. "But there ams something- somethings between us. "

Toki looked at him in an agony of doubt. It was so easy to believe him, but he would not be taken in. "And that's what you tells Yolande? And maybe Lady Harcourts in London? All the fine courtiers you haves fucked, and the stableboys too. "

Skwisgaar's expression shifted, from what seemed like pain to a sneer. "I had no ideas you were so _delicates_," he said.

"It ams all just a jokes to you," shouted Toki. "Just nothings! The games, the seduction- honey words and lies. It ams…it ams…heartless."

Skwisgaar shot up, and began fixing his hair and tidying his clothes. "Heartless, ams I? Very wells. You really ams only a child, and a very stupid one." His bearing was proud, but there was a strange shaking in his jaw.

"You'll be goings now?" Toki said, his mouth firm.

"Oh certainly, Count Wartooth." Skwisgaar gave a deep, mocking bow. "But remembers- these fine _morals_ of yours can makes you crueler than the worst Lothario."

"Jean!" shouted Toki, his voice uneven. "See _Baron Skwigelf_ out."

Jean appeared, looking baffled. Skwisgaar turned towards Toki. He gave another bow, shorter and brisker, and when he rose his eyes were flickering and his lips were hard. He then turned on his heel, and left.

When he had gone, Toki realized that his body still ached. It angered him, and he threw himself on the sofa in frustration. He pushed his face against the cushion, and sorted through his consciousness, trying to root out every memory of Skwisgaar Skwigelf. But for his efforts they were only more deeply embedded, as though they had made their way under his skin.


	12. Chapter 12

_I usually like to update much faster. Thanks for waiting!_

* * *

The dappled gray mare looked at Toki with huge black eyes. He brushed her coarse hair back and leaned his forehead against hers. He heard a snorting sound above him. It was Jean, the gangly stableboy. He had done nothing all day, and simply sat from the rafters with his legs dangling, scratching his hair.

"What ams so funny?" snapped Toki, clutching Skjelve's bridle. But he knew. He had spent the past two days in the stable, treating his horse like a baby.

Jean pursed his lips together. He hopped from the rafters, and a shower of hay fell over Toki's head. Toki howled and reached out to grab Jean, but he darted away, laughing louder.

"I have to learn control my servants," said Toki in harsh Norwegian, picking the hay from his hair. Skjelve, ever sensitive, backed away quickly.

"No, not you, darling." He kissed her forehead, and slipped a sugar cube from her pocket. She looked at him gently, and, blinking her eyes, scooped up the sugar with her velvety muzzle. "There, that's a good girl."

Toki was absurdly grateful to the mare. He had concentrated all his attention on her the past two days, and it allowed to him to obscure all that occurred in that room when the sun was setting and Skwisgaar was leaning over him. Skjelve, for all her nervousness, had submitted to several baths and now her hair was done up in ribbons and flowers. But for all his efforts, he still struggled with an aching loneliness. He missed laughter and friends and chatter. He wanted to lounge in the shade with Yolande or stuff himself with cakes in Marie's salon while she waxed about her upcoming parties. His mind wandered to Cornichon, and his drunken antics, but no, Cornichon wasn't his friend, he was _Skwisgaar's_ friend, and Skwisgaar…

When he said the name, even to himself, it was as though the lips were on his again, the hands were tracing his sides, and he had to fight all over again, or he would be lost. No, he couldn't return to court, not while he was there, not while he might even hear the name.

He shook his head, and stroked Skjelve. Jean appeared again, and Toki frowned at him. No matter what he did, the stupid boy never really respected him as a master.

The boy bowed low as though he had been an ideal servant all along. When it came to anything truly formal, Jean was a master- he should have been an actor. Toki resolved to send him off to a traveling theater troupe as soon as possible. "You have company, _my Lord_," said Jean with ridiculous gravity.

He felt his limbs go cold. No- it couldn't be. He couldn't face Skwisgaar again.

Jean gave him a toothy grin. "Monsieur Cornichon or some such." he said.

Toki clutched the bridle and heaved a sigh- of relief? He couldn't be sure. But what was the drummer doing here?

"Serve hims coffees," he said. "I needs to gets these _hays _out of my clothings." He added sharply. Jean gave a quick nod and scrambled off, joyful at the opportunity.

Toki patted Skjelve's cheek and went to his dressing room. He studied himself in the mirror, almost forgetting how he was supposed to look. It was so nice to wear old clothes sometimes, and to let his hair hang free.

He ran his fingers through the long brown strands and shook out the hay. It was he who should be judging Cornichon, and not the other way around: he was a Count after all, while Cornichon was a peasant with a lucky skill.

But he couldn't see it that way, not after his humiliation. It seemed now that there was no greater nobility than to play, and play well. He glanced mournfully at his spare guitar that hid among his winter boots. It was dusty and even boasted a few cobwebs. But no matter: he wasn't a guitarist anymore, but a count, a stupid leech of a nobleman.

He slid into a brown coat and jacket. The material was wool, and very fine too, but it was simple, not some gaudy product of Versailles.

When he entered the drawing room he bowed low. Cornichon returned his bow but quickly sprang up, a big grin on his face. "Count Wartooth, god, it's so nice to see ya again." He was only a little drunk this time, and mostly kept his balance. It felt that Cornichon's elation was rubbing off on him- Toki was already lighter and happier. It felt so good to be with a person again, a real person, not like Skwisgaar who always put him on edge.

Cornichon walked over to the couch and slumped over. Toki pulled up a chair. "How ams everybodys?" he asked eagerly. "Marie? Yolande?"

"Aw, they're all great. Just great. Marie's planning a masquerade- and Yolande-" Cornichon frowned, and looked nervously at Toki.

"What ams it?"

"Well, I don't know for certain. She's been at it with that husband of hers."

"At it?" asked Toki doubtfully. Sometimes he had trouble understanding French words.

"You know. Fighting. Or he's fighting her." Cornichon sighed and hiccupped simultaneously. "She doesn't defend herself. What that Duke really needs is a kick in the balls."

Toki stood up, frustrated. He couldn't let this happen- but how could he go back? And the name came to his head, the reckless, unwanted name- Skwisgaar. But Skwisgaar had already got what he wanted from Yolande. Why would he deign to help her again?

"Are you alright?" Cornichon looked at him surprise, and Toki realize he had been screwing up his features. Toki sat down and forced himself to relax his face, though his anxiety was spoiling the pleasure he had in Cornichon's company.

"What ams you here for?" He asked.

"Well I can tell you, but let's have a drink first," said Cornichon. He tried to wink and only succeeded in blinking both eyes.

"Jean!" called Toki, and the boy appeared. Toki could barely believe what he saw.

The little rat was wearing _his_ clothes, all silk, and the powder in his hair could only have come from _his_ chamber. Jean walked with his nose in the air like a true palace servant.

"My Lord," he said with a flourish of his hand. Either his voice had dropped an octave, or he was faking it.

Cornichon raised his eyebrows. "You sure keep it classy up here," he said, impressed.

Toki opened his mouth to scream at the boy, and then closed it. It was his fault after all. Even Skjelve knew he couldn't control his servants.

"Brings us some-"

"Cognac," finished Cornichon.

"Yes, my Lord," said the boy, and he marched off.

"Ahh, that will be better." Cornichon leaned deep into the couch. "But I have to talk to you, Count." His pupils contracted, and he seemed to grow much more aware. "More than that, I have to give you something."

Toki tilted his head. "Give me somethings?"

"Yeah. I've been thinking about it all the way up here, but I can't seem to figure out why he wanted you to have it."

"He?" asked Toki, afraid of the answer.

"Baron Skwigelf."

Toki shivered. His features stiffened. "I do not knows what the Barons could possibly haves to give me."

Cornichon chuckled. "I could think of a thing or two," he said, and Toki's face paled. Was Skwisgaar talking about him at court, talking about _what had happened_?

Cornichon gave a wry smile. "You don't have to look at me that way. I may have a slight problem with, um, being tipsy sometimes, but I know how to keep a secret."

"_He tolds you_?" Toki could sense the fury in his voice.

Cornichon shrugged. "We're like brothers. I've told him some secrets too." A dreamy look passed over his face, and faded just as quickly. "Anyway, you have the wrong idea about Skwisgaar."

The rage had passed, but the hesitation, the raw doubt remained. Jean came and left, but he was just a blur to Toki. "I thinks I haves exactly the rights idea about him. He ams a cold man, a man who woulds-" and he paused, his face going red.

"Screw anything?" Cornichon laughed and took a deep swig, straight from the bottle. "You may be right there, but I know the man. I think he hardly knows what to do with you."

Toki did not know what to make of that.

"Now want to see what Skwisgaar sent you?" He smiled. "You might change your mind."

Toki found himself nodding, slowly. Cornichon stumbled to the corner of the room and pulled out a long box and placed it on the table. He opened the lid, and Toki pulled back in shock.

"It ams not possible!" He said, reaching out his arm.

It was Thunderhorse. It was lacquered and beautiful as always, but utterly destroyed. The guitar's neck had broken off. Five strings were split, and only one held the whole piece together.

"He gives this to me?" he asked, holding back tears.

"That's what he said. It's a shitty gift if you ask me, but he insisted."

"The stupids, stupids bastard," said Toki. Toki remembered his younger years when Thunderhorse had seemed almost mythical in its scope. His parents had always shunned news from the outside, so he had run to town to read the newspapers, or better yet, hear the tales from traveling merchants and sailors. There was always word of Thunderhorse, a guitar that could pierce through the heart with a single chord, and Skwigelf, the only man who could wield it. Toki had imagined owning an instrument so great, and now he did, but it only left a bitter taste in his mouth.

"He brings you here to mock me," Toki almost yelled. "He really doesn't cares about anything." He turned away.

Cornichon looked at Toki, and at the guitar, and back at Toki again. A light seemed to glow in his eyes. He laughed, and Toki resented him for it. "No. No, Count. That's not it. Not at all. Don't you get it?"

"No," said Toki, a hint of ferocity in voice.

"You've heard of this guitar?" asked Cornichon.

"Of course I haves," said Toki, annoyed by the question. "It ams nearly as famous as he ams."

"Yep. The famous Thunderhorse, Now just two pieces of wood. You think it was easy for him?"

Toki ran a finger over the side of the guitar, "He probably just get angrys because he doesn't get his way."

Cornichon looked at him with his sharp green eyes, and it was clear that he was suppressing a smile. He cleared his throat, and his face became somber. The two of them stood in silence, as though in mourning, and finally Toki spoke. "He smashed it?" he asked. It was a dramatic flourish that some electric guitarists resorted to, but it wasn't popular among elite players.

Cornichon shook his head. "No, count. It wasn't like that at all. He was super steady about it. Just took it and placed it on his knee. He looked at me, nodded, and then cracked it in two."

Toki's jaw dropped. "Just likes that?" He _loved_ that guitar. He shrugged. " He must haves been very prouds of himself."

"No, I don't think he was. He didn't look like himself- just kind of sad and pathetic. Like you."

Toki opened his mouth in protest, but he didn't have a good response.

Cornichon grabbed his arm. "You're one stupid kid, you know that?" Toki pushed him, but it didn't phase him in the least. He landed lightly on the couch, his arms behind his head. "And Skwisgaar's a stubborn bastard. You can't get the words from his lips. You really can't. But yeah, this is the most important thing to him, and it was the only way to show you."

Toki felt a strange warmth pulse through his body. "The only way to show me-"

Cornichon burst into laughter. "That he's fucking in love with you, kid."

Toki didn't mean for it to happen, not really. And he wasn't sure at first, if it was pain or pleasure, so stealthily did it creep up upon him. But an unfamiliar elation swept through him like an arrow, a happiness he was suddenly aware was his birthright, more than any wealth or land or county. It was fully contained on the inside, grasped like a hoarded jewel; he didn't have the words or the strength or the will to express it. He stared at Cornichon with his mouth half open before his eyes lit up and stupid grin spread across his face.

Cornichon put his arm over his shoulder. He was shorter and had to reach-he even dragged Toki down a bit- but it somehow felt right, like the small drunken man was his older brother.

"Come on," he said, nudging at Toki's ribs. "It's time to get you home."


	13. Chapter 13

_So Cornichon/Pickles sings some songs! Changed some lyrics to make them era appropriate. Please review if you like! I don't like to ask but it helps me a lot._

* * *

The carriage tumbled over the incline, and jolted Toki awake. He had only been dozing anyway. With the roads as they were, rocky and filled with pits, the wheels tossed over the road and the carriage careened the right and to the left, lifting Toki and Cornichon from their seats.

Toki held Cornichon steady, afraid he might be sick at any moment. But the drummer was fast asleep and snoring steadily, his head on Toki's shoulder and a half empty bottle of wine in his hand. Toki smiled. He snatched the bottle and pushed Cornichon to the other side of the seat, just in case. The moon was high above them. It was the dead of night, and they were en route, the coachman going at breakneck speed.

He took a deep swig of wine. It was a bottle from the inn at the crossroads. The Golden Flea, it was called, and Cornichon had insisted they stay the night. It was much slower going in a carriage than by horseback, and they couldn't ride all night, much as Toki wanted to.

They dined on duck and turnips, and afterwards Toki had a tart and Cornichon another glass of the inn's specialty Red. One glass turned into another until Cornichon had finished the bottle, and started another. The guests departed one by one until it was just the two of them, and a curious barmaid who lingered at the counter, cleaning the glasses. Only a few lamps were lit. Toki took Cornichon under the armpits and tried to drag him to bed, but by then he had begun to sing. His voice was deep and gravelly.

_"Make a mess dripping crimson and bone!"_

Toki dropped him, but he went on singing. "Cornichon!" he hissed. "Shuts up!" The inn was sleepy and small, but everyone knew it was bad to draw attention on the road.

"Hey," slurred Cornichon, his eyes dreamy. "Where's the Queen? This is her favorite song!"

The barmaid was giggling. Toki struggled to pull him up again, but he was a dead weight. Cornichon shut his eyes and went on singing.

"_Na na na na, na na na na_!" His voice was now a loud wail, and he sounded almost like Thunderhorse when it hit the low, crackling notes. Then his voice went high and nasally, and he kicked the floor as he sang.

"_My name is Cornichon, I like the Duc d'Orleans  
Hanging out with Mozart, riding on a donkey cart  
Shooting jokes with Voltaire, eatin' twenty eclairs  
Taking shots off trollops, you know I drink it all up." _

"I ams sure you do," said Toki, rolling his eyes. He took Cornichon by the arm and dragged him backwards across the floor. He backed into six feet of solid flesh.

The innkeep was standing over him, holding a now extinguished candle. He was frowning and towered over Toki in his nightgown and cap. The barmaid yelped and darted out of sight.

Toki backed up.n"I'm sorrys! I trys to quiet him."

The innkeep grumbled and reached for Toki's neck. Toki's eyes went wide.

And the innkeep fell to the ground.

Behind him stood three men, obscured by the darkness.

"I thanks you, sirs," said Toki, bowing, but they said nothing. They swept around him in a circle. One of them carried a club, one a knife, and the other a pistol. Toki reached for his sword, and wished he had practiced more on _that_ as well.

"You woke up the entire inn," said one of them, a man with thickly muscled arms. He swung his club in a circle.

Toki tried to keep him in his line of sight, while also staring at the other two, but it wasn't possible. "He just likes to sings, that ams all," he answered.

The man kicked Cornichon.

"Hey! Fuck off!" yelled the drummer.

"Lucky for us," said the hooded man. "We're the only ones here. How much gold you got on you?"

Toki fumbled in his purse and pulled out a handful of coins.

The man laughed. "That's all? No, that won't do. Our master won't be pleased with that." Cornichon began to sing again, and the man lifted his leg to kick him.

"Don't hurts him!" cried Toki, his eyebrows furrowing. "He ams a nice man!"

The man delivered another kick to Cornichon's gut.

Toki was on him before he knew what was happening. He didn't even bother with the sword. He leapt up onto the man's back and bit his ear through the hood, hard. The man screamed, and blood poured down his neck from under the hood. "You crazy bastard!" He swung his club uselessly in the air, and the other hooded mean honed in. Toki hissed and kicked at them. He landed one in the chest, but the other grabbed his leg and swung him on to the ground as though he were a rag doll and he landed on Cornichon.

"Watch it!" wailed Cornichon. "I'm trying to sleep here!" Drips of blood fell over their bodies as the men leaned over, and piece of severed ear fell next to Toki's head. He swallowed and saw the gleam of the knife and pistol, and the dull weight of the club as it beat on the table.

"All right boys. That's, ah, enough for tonight." A figure with a lantern, slimmer than the hooded men, slipped in between them. "Don't need another murder on our roster."

"But you said-!" protested the man with the dagger.

"Well, ah, the situation seems to have altered." He knelt down with the lantern and Toki blinked.

"Christ, Count Wartooth," said Ofdensen. "Did they hurt you?" Toki squinted and made out the red tri-corner hat and the glint of the light against the spectacles.

"Master. He bit off my ear!" shouted the man with the club.

"I see. Part of the job description, if you'll recall."

"But-my ear!" the man protested.

He handed the man a small pamphlet. "Employee handbook. Refer to page four, if you will."

"I can't read," said the man. A drop of blood landed on Toki's cheek and he rolled over, groaning.

"Then allow me to read it for you." Ofdensen snatched back the pamphlet and cleared his throat. "_Statute sixteen. In the event of any and all employee injuries the liability lies with the employee and not with Ofdensen Marauding and Management_. Clear as day, am I right,15?"

"But my name is-"the man protested.

"_Statute seven_," read Ofdensen, clearly irritated. "_Employees will renounce their given names upon employment with OMM and answer to their designated number_."

"Oh," said the man, clearly lost for words.

Ofdensen shook his head and pressed the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. "Training new recruits," he told Toki. "The worst part of the job." Another drop of blood fell next to Toki's face.

"Will you back off?" said Ofdensen, shooing the hooded men away. Toki pulled himself up and scowled at Ofdensen.

"I thoughts you were a _managers_," he said.

Ofdensen shrugged, and sat at the table, resting the lantern. "I am, Count. Among other things. You saw me out there with my pistols.

"But you does that to meets Skwisgaar!" Toki almost shouted. He shook Cornichon, but the drummer rolled back on his side and continued to doze.

"Indeed. I have several business enterprises." He smiled. "This one, at least, is tax-free."

Toki crossed his arms. "I ams sure that consoles you when you ams killing people."

Ofdensen smiled. "It does. The taxes in France are very high. People say it's that Queen of yours."

"Marie?" asked Cornichon, waking up and yawning. "Real nice lady."

"Well," said Ofdensen. "I didn't realize that the wealthy noble on the road was _you_, of course. That might have changed things. My deepest regrets."

Toki grunted and looked to the side.

Ofdensen looked around. "Now where's, ah, Skwisgaar? I'd have thought he'd be traveling with you." Toki went red.

"Skwisgaar loves Count Wartooth," said Cornichon sleepily, resting his head on Toki's leg. Toki blushed again, scowled, and shoved him.

Ofdensen smirked. "I'm sure he does, Monsieur-"

"Cornichon," said Toki. "He ams a drummer. He plays with Skwisgaar."

Ofdensen's eyes lit up. "A drummer? Do you have representation?"

"Represen- what?" Cornichon pushed himself up and rubbed his eyes.

"I can make you a great deal of, ah, money, on your gigs."

Cornichon blinked, looking both confused and highly interested. Toki shot to his feet. "No you don'ts," he said, pulling up Cornichon by his arm. "We ams leavings here!"

Ofdensen frowned. "That simply isn't necessary. Stay the night. You can have your pick of the rooms."

Toki looked him wryly. "Well, for ones, there ams no one working here anymore."

"Come now! I suppose _this man_ won't be any help." He nudged the fallen innkeep with his toe. "But look!" He marched to a high stack of barrels and pulled out the trembling barmaid from behind them. "This young lady can take care of you."

The barmaid shrieked and dashed out of the building. Ofdensen shrugged. "I suppose that leaves my employees." He gestured down the hooded figures, who were huddling in the dark corner.

Toki shuddered. "No, thanks you! Now ifs you haven't murdered my coachman, I'lll be ons my way."

Toki found his coachman huddling in the barn in terror, a pile of hay over his head. Cornichon was still singing. Toki managed to wrangle both of them towards the coach. And finally, in spite of all the jolts and shocks and bumps from the road, he was able to think.

Now that he had the chance, he felt a strange embarrassment. So much had happened on this night, and so much more would happen when he saw Skwisgaar, when they had a chance to speak, to be alone. His face grew warm, and he pressed it up against the window pain, looking at the web of stars overhead. He felt nervous, but the sensation was almost pleasant. It was as though a landscape as broad as that night was open to him, with as many intricate crossing paths as the spaces between stars. Skwisgaar was still a figure that made him anxious- with such a mocking expression, and such a fierce confidence, it was as though he fed on anxiety. But under all that, Skwisgaar _thought of him_. The prospect seemed both alien and enchanting, and Toki wondered with some trepidation how the Swede would treat him when they were finally together.

_But he kissed me before, on the lips and on the forehead, and he whispered my name too_.

And now- now Skwisgaar loved him. _Or at least he claimed he did_.

Toki glanced at Cornichon. There were so many places this could go wrong.

_Could Skwisgaar have been lying, or Cornichon? Or could there have been a simple misunderstanding? _

Toki pursed his lips together and could hear his own heartbeat and he pressed up against the window pane and curled his legs under him. He could feel his eyelids sinking, and he was in the parlor of Sangeaux again, in the late afternoon. Skwisgaar was stretched over him, his body melded over his, and they were joined in a kiss as rich and warm as the golden light around them.

_No, no, there were no lies. It was real, it had to be_.

* * *

And now he was awake again, keeping Cornichon steady and fixating on the rising moon. There was another jolt, this one far fiercer, and the carriage pulled to a stop. Toki waited a minute, then another before opening the carriage door.

"What ams happening?" he called to the coachman.

The coachman huffed in frustration, and hopped down from his seat. He looked anxiously about him. The experience at the inn had clearly harrowed him.

"It's no great thing, my lord, simply the horses. We're going to need to change them."

Toki frowned. He studied the surroundings, the dark road and the black woods on either side, and shivered. "How wills we do that?"

The coachman rubbed his forehead. "There's an inn not two miles from here. They should have a full stable where we can change horses- for a price."

"We will pays it." said Toki. He felt an even greater impatience to be back at Versailles. "How far ams we?"

"At this pace?" The coachman shrugged. "Three hours should do it."

They rolled slowly into the inn, allowing the horses a chance to rest. Toki thought of his Skjelve, and felt sorry for them. He let Cornichon sleep and hopped into the inn for a quick drink while the coachman changed the horses. When he came out, a hooded woman was at the door, speaking to a man with a kerchief around his neck.

"There's no chance?" She asked, her voice shaking. "We've been delayed here too long. I _must _make it there tonight."

Toki started. The voice was familiar. He peered over, but the woman bent her hooded cloak over her face.

The man shook his head. "There's no chance of that, my lady, and there's roads are perilous. I can escort you, but you'd be better making straight for home."

The woman knelt down and buried her face in her hands.

"You said you could get me there," she said bitterly.

"I could have, my lady, if weren't for the search and the lamed horse. I regret it, I do my lady." He sounded sad.

"Don't worry," she said, her voice breaking. "You attempted to help me, and at such great risk. Get me home, and I will pay you regardless."

"Thank you," the man said, the relief plain in his voice. He walked toward the stables.

Toki held a tankard of ale in his hand, and he looked down at the huddled figure at his feet. _My lady. So she was a noblewoman. Perhaps she had come from Versailles._

"Drinks this," he said, handing her the tankard.

"You are kind," she said, and took the tankard before pausing. She lifted up her hood and stared him in the eye.

"Baron Wartooth!" She flushed deeply, and stood up.

"Yolande!" he cried, and resisted the urge to throw his arms around her.

Her breathing was unsteady and she averted her gaze.

"You ams in trouble," he said, reaching out for her hand. "Tells me."

She turned her eyes to him and gripped his hand. "I simply…I wasn't expecting to see you here."

"Why? Where ams you going?"

"I was going to you."

Then tears were streaming down her face, and though she couldn't help them, she was making a great effort not to contort her features. She started to speak, and at first her words were incoherent. "Today. Dawn. The two of them…"

"Yolande, I don'ts understand."

"It's Skwisgaar."

Toki's heart beat, and hard. "Tells me."

"He's going to duel, with my husband. _Over me_," she added, her voice strained with grief. "I wasn't supposed to know, but I found out last night. At dawn today, and I thought if I could just reach you. But we were searched by the customs agent, and my horse was injured and-." She buried her hands in her face.

"But why comes to me?" He asked, his chest aching.

"He trusts you," she said, wiping a tear from her eye. "He talks about you sometimes. I thought perhaps you could talk some sense into him. He wouldn't listen to me- and my husband. No, my husband won't speak to me at all." Her entire body was trembling, and Toki but his arms around her gently before he realized he was shaking just as badly.

"But I found you," she said, her voice growing strong. "There may be time. We must head back together and _speak to him_."

Toki nodded briskly and they made for the carriage. The new horses were in place and the coachman was ready.

"Cornichon ams with us, "said Toki.

"Thank God," said Yolande. "Skwisgaar will listen to him."

Toki opened the carriage door and grimaced. "I don't knows if he ams in much of a state to talks." Cornichon was curled up in fetal position on the carriage floor, fast asleep.

Lady that she was, Yolande stepped gently over the body as though it wasn't there. "Make it two hours and there ams golds for you!" called Toki.

"Risk our damned necks," muttered the coachman, but he flicked his whip and they were off into the remains of the night.


	14. Chapter 14

Toki gritted his teeth as Versailles appeared on the horizon. The sun was promising to peak over the horizon and shades of purple and deep mauve filled the sky. Yolande's eyes were red and bleary. Cornichon was sprawled over Yolande's lap, but rather than taking offense, she seemed to find it comforting, and ran her fingers over his red hair, from the scalp to the tip of his ponytail.

Toki thought of the balmy afternoon, so long ago it seemed, when _his_ head had rested Yolande's lap. A warm scented breeze had passed over them, and he had first confessed his fears to her. It seemed eons ago, and so many hopes had risen and been dashed to rocks since then.

_I must talk him out of it. Will he listen to me? _But he knew that Skwisgaar could not back out without a stain to his honor. He had been eager to join the ranks of nobles, and now that he was one of them, he had to conform to their code. No cowardice, no backing down- once he had been challenged, he had little choice.

"But Marie-," said Toki, looking into Yolande's eyes. "She can not lets this happen- it ams forbidden!"

Yolande looked toward the palace that seemed a doll's house in the distance. Her hand rested on Cornichon's shoulder, and he murmured something. She smiled sadly. Her curls had lost their volume and hung limply over her shoulders. She was still beautiful, but in a wild way, a way utterly foreign to her.

"I tried to speak to her, I did, though my husband would no doubt have punished me for it. But she was with His Majesty. He said it was a matter of honor, and he would not interfere."

Toki frowned. "Yolande, if only you womens could stands up to your husbands."

She laughed bitterly. "I'm afraid you do not understand, dear Count. We have no rights, and the penalties for disobedience can be severe." She lifted up her hair, lightly, as though simply adjusting it, and he saw a deep bruise on either side of her neck, as though hands had grabbed at her throat.

"The filthy Dukes," hissed Toki, nearly rising from his seat. "I will kills him!"

"And so said Skwisgaar," said Yolande, nearly choking on her words. "What a proud man he is, and he seems so cold at times. But kind- and with an open heart."

She adjusted her hair so it fully covered her neck. "And he would fight my husband, he would, though it would break my heart. But if could listen to someone- it could only be someone he couldn't refuse, it could only be-" she gave Toki a meaningful glance.

Toki's chest rose and fell, rose and fell.

"No," she continued. "He's said nothing to me- not directly. But he speaks of you, and I am no fool." Her eyes fell to the floor. "I have told you of my cousin Émile?" She asked.

"Yes," said Toki, smiling slightly. "He was a great cavalier."

"I was only a little girl then, too young to understand, and he had just reached manhood." She shivered. "Émile was my best friend, as young as I was- he always had sweetmeats and toys and would throw me up in the air as though I were a doll." She laughed. "He called me his little wife, and I was certain we would be married someday." Cornichon blinked awake, and it seemed as though he were listening.

"A young man from Provence had brought his sister to court. She was a beauty and he hoped to make her a good match for her. If I remember, my cousin was one of the prospects. But Émile fell for _him_, and he for my cousin. They were happy for a while, until they were caught together. The young man fled, and Émile made straight for the wars. He made a hero of himself, but he threw himself away. He drowned in the battle of Carrickfergus."

Toki pictured a young man much like her, with brown curls and gentle eyes. He thought of the ocean, and how it swallowed him, and his mind turned to Skwisgaar and the long field where the cavaliers dueled. His stomach churned.

"I never understood," she continued. "Not until years later, when his journals fell into my hands. "_Burn them"_ my father told me, but I kept them, and I read them every night. It was such a waste, of beauty and youth and promise. They say it's wrong, love like that." She laughed, softly. "But what would our _romans*_ be without forbidden love?"

She reached out her hands to Toki, and he pressed them, tight. He had loved her once, and now he loved her still more, though only at this moment was he certain of the true nature of that love. They would stand by one another, always. And even Cornichon, though barely ever sober, was a friend to him. It was all he had ever wanted, such friends, only now it wasn't enough.

The coach made it through the gates and over the cobblestones of the central courtyard. Toki shook Cornichon and he grabbed his head and groaned.

"We ams here, Cornichon. You can sleeps now."

Cornichon groaned and snatched his walking stick. He hopped out the carriage.

"I heard you guys talking. Skwisgaar's in trouble, and I'm coming with you."

But Toki was too fast for him. He raced to the front doors. "Meets me at the grounds," he called behind him to a startled Cornichon and Yolande. The guards glanced at him and admitted him with dubious expressions on their stiff faces.

It had to be in the designated spot, in the wooded area on the eastern part of the palace grounds. He didn't have time to run- he made for the stables, and had the grooms saddled him a bay. The horse balked at his touch- he was shaking, and the animal could feel it.

"Steady now," he said in Norwegian, in the tone he used with Skjelve. He stroked the horse's side, pretending she _was_ Skjelve, that he was back at his country house and everything was fine. The horse calmed, and Toki slipped a foot into the stirrups and leapt in the saddle. Warm shades of rose and gold illuminated the trees by the roadside. Toki's chest tightened- _it might already be too late._

He galloped along the pathway, to the area where the trees grew thicker and the path narrower. He made a hard right, and the bay plodded through the high grasses. He clenched the reigns. There was a stone wall up ahead, and he was unsure of the bay- but there was no time to doubt. He pushed her ahead and she leapt over the wall. "Good girl," he said, his voice hard. He was in the woods now, and the bay dodged the poplars and cedars around them. They rounded a painted gazebo, and when they made past the carved oak, he knew the grounds were just ahead.

He slowed at he crossed into the clearing. All he saw were several men, nodding. Some he knew, some were strangers, but they all looked the same to him in their dark coats and peaked hats. Time seemed to shift, and their heads lifted slowly to face him. Their expressions were somber.

Then a hand snatched the bridle, and pulled him deeper in the thicket.

"Don't be a fool, you'll draw the king's men here for sure!" said a man, but Toki only saw the top of his head.

"Skwisgaar-" he said, but no one answered him.

"The king will overlook this duel, he said as much," said another man. Toki's heart paused. The duel- it was still in action.

Toki leapt from horse. "Baron Skwigelf," he nearly shouted, clutching the stranger by the shoulder.

The man pushed him off. "Are you blind? Just look behind you."

Toki shuddered involuntarily, and turned. He was looking into a long clearing, tall oaks overhead, casting a long shadow in the sunrise. Two figures were illuminated in shades of gold, but when he squinted, he could see they wore dark cloaks. The first was only a few yards away, his arm lifted and a pistol in his hand. And the other- he stood still, waiting, unnaturally tall and calm, chin lifted, and his yellow hair pulled back.

Toki took several deadened steps forward, but hands fell over his arms and pulled him back. There was a sound, much like thunder, and a rich cloud of smoke, and ahead of him, Skwisgaar fell to the ground.

* * *

*Roman- Means 'novel' in contemporary French, but Yolande is referring to the classic romantic verse of medieval French literature, which often involved adulterous or tragic love, i.e. Tristan and Isolde


	15. Chapter 15

_I see that I get lots of nice attention when bad things happen so…_

_JUST KIDDING. I'm not George R R Martin. I'm nice. _

_Trigger warning: blood. nothing else gory, but blood. I don't want to spoil, but I don't want to traumatize anyone, so if you have any questions about the general outcome of the story, just PM me and I will tell you. I promise to update quickly over the next few chapters. _

_Special thanks to Ceinwen, psychedicgoolash, followsleep, and shiftyeyes (x 100) for your continued support!_

* * *

The hands were still over his arms, and though he forced himself forward, it seemed that he couldn't escape their grip.

"I must, I musts-" He called out weakly, struggling from the grasp, but another set of hands pulled him back.

"Calm down, man," said a voice behind him. Toki recognized it, vaguely, but he couldn't put a name to it. "The doctor has to see to him, see if he's-" and the man paused.

_Alive,_ thought Toki, and he uttered a small cry. The figure in the distance was still in the grass, and utterly motionless.

The man with the pistol turned towards them. He was trying to contain his satisfaction, but his thin lips could not conceal the huge teeth underneath.

_ The Duke of Polignac._

His servant opened a case and Polignac cleaned out his pistol. He turned toward Toki, and lifted an eyebrow.

"Ah, Baron Wartooth," he said, baring his horse teeth in another grim smile. "We thought you had left us."

Toki barely registered his words. His eyes darted frantically to the fallen body in the distance. A doctor was walking toward him, slowly. T_oo slowly_. He turned back toward Polignac, his chest heaving.

"Won't you congratulate me, dear Count? It seems I've eliminated a rival for both of us." The Duke chuckled, and Toki lunged at him. He was still held back, but managed to tear at Polignac's cuff. Polignac looked at him in shock.

"Careful, Wartooth," spat the Duke, carefully rearranging his sleeve. "I would hate to send another man to the grave."

_Grave. Grave. Grave. _The words reverberated through Toki's mind as he watched the doctor lean over Skwisgaar in the distance. He kicked behind him, striking one of the men holding him in the shins, and in a fit of unusual strength, wriggled away. He raced the length of the field, and he was at Skwisgaar's side.

"What are you- this is highly unorthodox!" The doctor scowled, and pressed his ear to Skwisgaar's wrist, listening for a pulse.

"Where ams he, where ams he shot?" shouted Toki, scanning the body with his eyes. The black coat had been pulled back to reveal a white shirt beneath. He had a sense at this moment that Skwisgaar was insanely fragile, that if he chanced to touch him, he might break.

There was a small rip in Skwisgaar's silk shirt, on the lower left hand side beside the ribs. Toki squinted. It seemed that Skwisgaars ribs were turning pink on the left side. He pulled back in shock. The blood spread outward, creating a bright red rose were the rip was.

Toki fell to his knees.

"Do somethings!" He shrieked. He placed his hand on Skwisgaar's cheek. "Wakes up! Wakes up, idiot!"

Skwisgaar's lips moved and Toki could feel the warmth of his breath over his hand. He could have fainted from happiness, but his joy quickly turned on him as he glanced back at the wound, and at the pooling blood which spread with every second over the weave of the silk.

Without thinking, Toki spread his hand over the wound in a feeble attempt to stall the bleeding. He felt its heat as it spread over his fingers and outward.

It was now warm and green all around them, a perfect summer morning. A songbird called. It was the Ortolan, a bird with a song so pure it was said to have inspired Beethoven, a bird that was often drowned in Brandy and eaten whole by the gourmands of Versailles. _What a fucking waste_ he thought. The tears on his face were as warm as the heat of the spilling blood.

"_Help him_," he called desperately. A murmuring crowd gathered around them, but Toki didn't notice them. The doctor, a bony old man with a huge white wig, looked on in distaste, and pressed a scented handkerchief to his nose. He motioned with his hands and two small boys ran forward. The elder placed a cloth over the wound.

"What ams happening?" asked Toki, controlling his breath to keep from screaming.

"He's bleeding," said the black haired boy simply. The blood soaked through the cloth and the boy applied another. Skwisgaar twisted, and emitted a low groan.

"He'll probably die," the boy whispered. "Most of my master's patients die." He pressed the cloth tighter against the wound. "That is if there's anything _really_ wrong with them. Dr. Peureux usually just gives out laudanum, and people seem happy with that."

Toki stared at the boy in utter horror. He looked at the crowd and thought quickly.

"Dr. Muertrevisage!" he shouted. The faces looked down at him in confusion. Several ladies were there. Some were weeping, and others were stone faced, with their fans flitting to and fro.

_How quickly there turn on you here_.

With his hunched over body and his bloodied hands Toki looked out of his wits, and he knew it. "Where ams Dr. Muertrevisage?" Now he was cradling the head in his lap, and Skwisgaar's cheek was streaked with a fine layer of blood.

"Muertrevisage? A butcher," said the doctor, adjusting his wig. "Better to let the poor man die in _one piece_."

An elderly duchess looked dubiously at him. "Nonsense. He's the finest doctor in Versailles, the Royal Physician." She pulled out a bottle of Eau de Planète. "He cured my cough."

The black-haired boy knelt over and whispered in Toki's ear. "You're right to go to him- but he won't come to you. Thinks he's too important. He's a dick."

Toki took Skwisgaar in his arms, and lifted him. The crowd looked on in amazement. Skwisgaar cried out in his stupor and the blood flowed with greater vigor, dripping to the ground. Toki began to shake in rage and grief, but he held the lifeless body close and still. _He won't make it. The trip to the Palace will kill him… _

"No!" cried the boy. "Not like that! A stretcher."

The doctor knocked the boy upside the head. "Who do you think you are anyway?" he hissed.

"I do believe a stretcher will be in order," he said to Toki, and two bulky servants brought carried one out on two poles. Toki placed Skwisgaar gently on the canvas. He wanted to break down, but it wasn't an option. "We haves to hurry," he told the servants. "But gentle!"

The black haired boy sat in the grass, rubbing his head where the doctor had hit him. "Keep the cloth on him!" He yelled. "And don't take it off!"

They walked the road, several courtiers following them like a funeral procession. A few of the women were crying, a luxury Toki didn't have. The doctor was beside them with his perfumed kerchief still pressed to his nose, barely glancing at his patient.

A huge mound of cloth was now on Skwisgaar's side, and the bleeding had slowed. Skwisgaar, pale to begin with, had gone ash white, and beads of sweat rolled over forehead. Toki placed a hand gently on his cheek- he was cool to the touch. Skwisgaar had been cold before- he had slept in Toki's house once, soaked through and pale with a chill, and had woken the next day in perfect health. _He made me eat off his plate, we walked through the forest, and he kissed me_… But this was different, and Toki knew it.

A long shadow fell over him, and Toki jerked around. It was Cornichon. The small man lept off his horse and hurried to Toki's side. His eyes filled with tears as he looked at Skwisgaar.

"No, no, not possible," he said, clutching his stomach. "Aw, fuck! Skwisgaar! He's not dying?" he asked frantically, looking at Toki with huge wet eyes. He seemed less like an older brother then, and more like a little child.

"No, he's going to live," said Toki stubbornly, looking ahead with his lips pressed together. He didn't know if he believed it himself, but he was _angry_, and it felt like through his heat of his rage he could change the course of fate.

* * *

They laid Skwisgaar down in the chambers that had been to assigned to him. Toki opened up the pale blue curtains and let the morning sunlight stream through. He tugged the curtains off the four-poster bed with such ferocity that they ripped and fell to the floor.

"Get hims!" screamed Toki. "Get the doctors!" The servants looked at each other, and frightened, ran from the room. He opened his mouth to thank them but they had already gone.

Cornichon was pacing the carpets. "Oh God, oh God, oh God," he repeated, his face in his hands. "Ah, Toki, I can't take it. I need a drink."

"Then drinks this," Toki said bitterly, and tossed Cornichon another bottle of Eau de Planète some well-meaning courtier had handed him.

"I can't! It's half piss!"

"And the other halfs alcohol," Toki hissed. "If you wants a drinks so badly, takes it." He ran his hand through his hair. The ribbon had fallen out and it fell over his shoulders. He shuddered at the sound of stirring behind him.

"Who am there…?" came a voice from the bed. Toki rushed to Skwisgaar's side. He was awake, but just barely.

"It ams me, ams Toki," said Toki, his features contorting.

"No, ams not possible. Cants breathe," said Skwisgaar. He took a series of short, shallow breaths. Toki quickly undid his cravat, and smoothed the golden hair from his brow. Skwisgaar pulled back his head and screamed.

"Fucks," he cried, and murmured something in Swedish. "Hurts." His fingers grappled with the bloody cloths over his wound, and Toki pulled his arm away. He resisted, and Toki had to pin the arm over his head.

"No!" he said fiercely, his brows knitting together. "Don't does that." His French was slipping, but it didn't matter now.

Skwisgaar's eyes were shut, and his full lips opened and closed, as though processing the pain. Toki felt his arm struggle beneath his grasp.

"Fucking," breathed Skwisgaar incoherently. "You bastard." He struggled, and was much stronger than Toki would have thought. If he squirmed too much, he would only bleed more. Toki pushed his knee over the tops of Skwisgaar's thighs to keep him still. A sensation between dread and awe overtook him. It was a revolting joke- he had come so far to be close to Skwisgaar, and now he was- but the man was broken. Skwisgaar twitched and screamed again, and finally relaxed beneath him. His eyes flickered open and close. Toki gave in to an infernal urge, and pressed his lips to the damp forehead. He pulled his face over Skwisgaar's. The eyes opened and the pupils contracted, flooding the iris with shades of deep blue.

"Toki," said Skwisgaar. Toki pulled his leg off of Skwisgaar so he half kneeled at the edge of the bed. His hands clutched at Skwisgaar's shoulders, and he buried his face in his neck, in the warm strands of hair. He felt a heavy hand on the back of his scalp.

"Why…how? Ams you here?" Skwisgaar's words collapsed into each other, but Toki understood him.

"You gives me a gift." Toki lifted his face to Skwisgaar's. It was still pale, too pale, but he was aware. "A brokens gift."

Skwisgaar lifted his face to the ceiling. His fingers migrated unconsciously towards the bandages, but Toki snatched them away. "Ah," he said absent-mindedly ,"A brokens gift." He tried to curl up towards Toki, but cried out in agony as his muscles pushed over his wound. Toki watched in horror as fresh red blood ran over the dried brown.

"You can'ts! Don't move!" cried Toki, gently guiding him back in place. More sweat fell Skwisgaar's forehead, and he grimaced.

"You comes back," said Skwisgaar, breathing hoarsely. A small, absent-minded smile formed on his face. "All for the sakes of a broken guitar?"

Toki piled more cloth onto Skwisgaar's wound. _It isn't enough. _Toki looked desperately toward the door. Cornichon had left, and the doctor still hadn't come.

"For much mores than that, Skwisgaar," he said.

His lip curled and he buried his face in his arms on the side of the bed. It was all he could do not to sob.


	16. Chapter 16

_Trigger warning: Surgery and pain. But the gory stuff is mostly suggested, not shown._

* * *

Toki was distracted by a series of small grunts behind him. Startled, he lifted his head.

"You shouldn't be cuddling up sho clotsch to him," said a familiar voice. "It'sch really, uh…it'sch just not right."

Toki turned toward a frowning Dr. Muertrevisage. Toki had never been so relieved to see anyone, but the words still annoyed him.

"So says the mans who likes to sticks his knife in everybodys," said Toki, folding his arms.

Dr. Muertevisage flushed red. "How dare you-the _insholence_!" He had a big bushy block of hair wrapped up in a tiny ponytail behind his head. His unfashionable mustache was as blocky as he was. Toki had heard he was obsessed with the Prussian military and his walls were decorated with flags and rifles. He held in his hand a large bottle of Eau de Planète. There was a jingling sound as his assistants wheeled in a cart with various surgical tools laid out on top.

Toki swallowed. He didn't like the look of it- the forceps, the needles, the _knife_. The servants weren't much better. There were five of them- large, strapping men with hard faces, and their aprons were stained with a substance that was very possibly blood.

Muertrevisage toyed with the implements, hummed, and looked altogether too happy about the situation.

"Here, hold thish," he said, handing Toki the bottle. Toki took it, and yelped.  
"It ams _warm_," he protested.

Muertrevisage smiled at him indulgently, revealing the gap in his teeth. "Of coursh. I always ush a fresh bottle in shurgeriesh." Toki held the bottle by the cap between his thumb and forefinger.

"Good day, Baron Schwigelf," said Muertrevisage, sweeping his hat below him a deep bow.

Skwisgarr's pupils contracted. He looked towards Toki. "Not. Hims," he mouthed, clutching the pillow beside him. It was painful for him to even gather the air to breathe, let alone speak.

"It ams all right!" said Toki, swallowing. The doubt was plain in Skwisgaar's face, but he _had_ to believe if he was going to pull through. "Muertrevisage ams the best doctors in Versailles."

"In Fransch," corrected Muertrevisage. There was clinking sound as he stirred a reddish-brown substance in a glass vial.

"Yes, in France, and he's, he's-" said Toki, looking to the doctor for guidance.

"The Royal Physician." said Muertevisage. He lifted the vial and studied its contents.

"Hes looks after Hims Majestys himself. You could nots do better, I promise you." Skwisgaar nodded, his head heavy. Toki feared it was only to calm _him_, but didn't know what more he could say.

Skwisgaar jerked back slightly as the doctor neared him.

"He musts inspects you," said Toki sadly. "It won't hurts," he added, before realizing what a terrible lie that was.

Skwisgaar let his limbs fall flat, but widened his eyes and gritted his teeth as Muertrevisage studied his side. The doctor cracked his knuckles and ran his fingers down the ribs until Skwisgaar yelped.

"There," said Muertrevisage. "That'sch where it ish."

Toki looked at him helplessly.

"The bullet. It hash to come out, and now. Otherwisch it will tear him to pieshes." Muertevisage gave a small smile, as though the idea pleased him.

"But will he…lives?"

Muertevisage shrugged. "He wash _shot_. Maybe. Maybe not." He took the the bottle of Eau de Planète from Toki and poured it liberally over the wound. Skwisgaar hissed and Toki grimaced.

"Ams you sure that ams good for him?"

Muertrevisage snorted. "Who'sh the doctor here?" He picked up the knife from the tray and spun it around his finger. "M_y_ patientsh don't get gangrene. Well, not that much. Or should I call back Dr. Peureux?"

"Please. No," whispered Toki.

Muertrevisage seemed pleased with the answer. "Put a sheet under him," he called to his assistants. "Let'sh get this shtarted." He rubbed his hands together a bit too eagerly.

"Stop!" said Toki. This was all happening much to fast for him. He knew the surgery would be the worst of it, and if something went wrong- _I will never see him again_.

"You does it here? Don't you haves a laboratory?" he said, stalling for time.

Muertevisage picked up a pair of forceps and snapped them together. "Not posshible. The move would kill him."

Toki slipped to Skwisgaar's side. The blue eyes were open, conscious, and it seemed as though he wished to speak. But with the wound at his side, even breathing was an agony. Every few moments, his gaze fixed on Toki's with a hidden meaning. Toki pressed his hands, and the long fingers slid through his.

_His hands_, thought Toki, tracing Skwisgaar's palm with his thumb. _At least he didn't hurt his hands_. It would have been a cruel thing, a horrible thing. But then he would surely live, and Toki wouldn't face this aching, twisting dread.

Muertevisage watched them and sighed. "You sheem like a nisch kid. And a _Baron_, so they tell me. This proshedure- it may be somewhat _brutal_ for your tastesh. There'sh three dozen courtiersh out there, all eager to watch." He snorted. "And they say _I've_ got blood lusht. Besht you go out and join 'em."

"I will nots!" Said Toki, clutching the bedpost.

"Shuit yourshelf,"said the doctor. "Only don't get in the way."

The assistants slipped a sheet under Skwisgaar's body. Their hands were deft as they cut his shirt from his chest. One gripped his left arm and shoulder, closest to the bed, and held it fast. A second took a rope twisted in a noose, and, pulling it around his ankles, strung his legs to the footboard. Toki could see the panic rising in Skwisgaar's eyes. A third assistant hopped onto the bed and gripped his right arm. Skwisgaar tried to struggle from their grasp, but the pain was too intense, and he went limp. Toki felt the urge to scream.

"Wait!" Toki crawled up on the right side of the bed, and pushed the assistant aside. The man grunted, but slipped away. "I can hold him," he said. "Let me do it."

"You don't know how powerful thesh deshperate men can be. I don't think you're shtrong enough."

Toki furrowed his eyebrows. He was a slim, but he had a muscular build. He stripped off his coat, and quickly untied his cravat.

"I _ams_ strong," he said, and he knew it was clear as he knelt by Skwisgaar's side in his linen shirt.

Muertevisage shook his head. "Very well. But it will _not_ be a pleashant tashk. He will fight you, and you will have to let him shuffer."

Toki shuddered. The doctor had him. But if this were Skwisgaar's final hour, he _couldn't_ let him go alone. He took Skwisgaar's arm and held it fast, and pressed his forehead against his shoulder. It was strange to hold him this way, as though they were seeking pleasure and not the most horrific of pain.

"Ams there anything you can gives him?" asked Toki in a small voice. His knees pressed against Skwisgaar's thigh. "To takes the pain away?"

"I can help him," said Muertrevisage. "But it'sch a fine balancsh." He held up a vial of auburn liquid to the light. "Laudanum."

"That ams what….Dr. Peureux…" Toki started, remembering what the black haired boy had told him.

"I know," said Muertrevisage. "Peureux handsh out this shtuff like candy. And it worksh too. But too much- and your friend diesh. Sho I can make it better, but no, I can't take the pain away."

He let a dozen drops of laudanum fall into a glass of wine.

"Help him drink thish," said the doctor. "It'sh the besht I can do."

Toki pressed the glass to Skwisgaar's lips, and it clinked gently against his teeth. "Drinks," he said. His heart began to race. What words of comfort could he possibly offer? "_Please_," he said. Skwisgaar parted his lips, and took a shallow breath. Toki poured a small amount of liquid in his mouth.

"So. Bitter," breathed Skwisgaar.

"Shhh," said Toki, smoothing back his hair. "Just drinks."

Slowly, Skwisgaar downed the wine. His eyes grew glassy and he slumped back into the pillow. The drug had its effect.

"Give him thish," said the doctor. He handed him a thick leather strap.

"What ams-" and then Toki paused. He knew. Skwisgaar would need something to bite down on when the pain grew too intense.

Muertevisage removed the heap of bandages. His assistant handed him a small scalpel. Toki felt Skwisgaar trembling in his grasp. His eyes were locked on the blade."

"Do not looks. Don't looks, Skwisgaar," pleaded Toki, and without thinking he turned Skwisgaar's face to the side, towards his, though he would have liked nothing better than to knock the knife from Muertrevisage's hand himself. He grimaced and slipped the leather strip into Skwisgaar's mouth. "Will makes it easier," he said, his voice shaking. He touched his forehead to Skwisgaar's. His face contorted and Toki could make out the high vibrato of a scream through the leather strap.

_The knife is in him. It won't get much worse. It can't_. Toki clutched Skwisgaar's arm and let the words flow through him like an incantation, but they were of little use. Skwisgaar's face had gone red, and sweat dripped from every pour. He chewed the strap, saliva poured from the sides of his mouth, and he spat out pieces of leather. The strap fell from his mouth and he let out a rending cry. Toki's blood turned to ice.

The doctor's assistant handed Toki another strap, and he slipped it between Skwisgaar's lips. Skwisgaar fought him, bit him so that blood poured from his finger.

"It ams ok, you will bes ok," gasped Toki, and tears slipped salty into his mouth. Meurtrevisage had been right. He had to fight Skwisgaar, fight him every moment or knife might slip and destroy him. The man had an infernal strength born of anguish. The forceps went in, four inches into raw muscle, and Skwisgaar fainted from the pain.

Holding Skwisgaar's damp, limp body, Toki still had the sense that he was careening. His blood ran high, and he desperately wanted something to fight against. Instead, he shook, and held Skwisgaar's arm. The leather strap slipped from Skwisgaar's tongue- it was wet through and gnawed to pieces.

The bullet came out, deformed by heat, and the powerful scent of turpentine and blood permeated the room. Meurtrevisage skillfully dressed the wound. His fingers were thick and stocky and hairy and yet moved with a strange agility. He bound Skwisgaar's midsection in a long roll of cloth to allow the wound to heal.

"He'sh lucky," said the doctor. "He'sh a shkinny man with shkinny guts. The bullet went through the back and barely grazed his kidney."

Toki looked at him, barely daring to speak. "He will lives, then?"

Muertrevisage laughed. The horror of the surgery barely seemed to phase him. Toki knew he lucky to have a surgeon who didn't balk at the task, but it revolted him. "How many timesh musht you ashk me that? It wash a fairly clean wound, conshidering. But the fever hash to come, and to go. Then we'll know."

Toki nodded. His body still reeled, but he moved methodically. Skwisgaar's arms were free but his feet were still bound to the bed. Toki slipped them from the noose. There were deep red marks on Skwisgaar's ankles from where Skwisgaar had struggled and the feet were nearly purple. Toki rubbed them gently until they regained their color. Skwisgaar moaned and his head tossed on the pillow.

"Ams it safe now? Can we gives him more…of the medicines?" Toki didn't have it in him to say 'laudanum.' The word had taken on a meaning too close to death. Meurtrevisage nodded. "A little more won't harm him."

Another glass was produced, and Skwisgaar, though he was barely conscious, managed to down it. His eyelids drooped, and he seemed at ease.

"Ams it. Over?" he slurred.

"Yes, it ams," said Toki, choking on his words. It was so good to hear him speak. _Now just pull through. Please. Just a little longer_. Skwisgaar's lips were pale but still lovely, still full, still his. There were shades of deep purple in the hollows of his eyes that enhanced their brilliant blue. Toki had a strange longing to see his brow arch, to hear his biting wit, even if it injured his pride, but all Skwisgaar could say was "Stays with me," and opened his hand. It was clammy and limp in Toki's grasp.


End file.
